


when the sun and moon and stars are gone

by poisedwalrus



Series: not only plan but also believe [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mood Whiplash, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Temporary Amnesia, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Unreliable Narrator, deus ex morgan, not that he has a history of being reliable in this series, nothing wrong with a happy ending, sorry - Freeform, the musical of this fic is the band’s visit but the band’s visit is not actually mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisedwalrus/pseuds/poisedwalrus
Summary: “Thank you,” he tells the lady.“No problem,” she grins. “Happy Spider-Man Day.”Peter blinks.He looks down at the hotdog. It has a little ketchup face drawn on it, and there’s a crisscrossing mustard pattern underneath that looks like a clumsy but enthusiastic attempt at a web.“Spider-Man Day?” he says.If Peter can’t fight or run, then the least he can do is quietly disobey. As long as he stays alive, he’ll find a way to protect his people.Too bad he doesn’t remember who they are.(Set after “to win this fight, side by side”)





	1. all alone in the quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpts from the Wikipedia page on psychogenic amnesia:
> 
> "The atypical clinical syndrome of the memory disorder (as opposed to organic amnesia) is that a person with psychogenic amnesia is profoundly unable to remember personal information about themselves; there is a lack of conscious self-knowledge which affects even simple self-knowledge, such as who they are."
> 
> "[I]t is highly likely that both psychological factors and organic cause exist."
> 
> "...amnesia as a form of self-punishment in a Freudian sense, with the obliteration of personal identity as an alternative to suicide."

Peter has counted three hundred and eighty three thousand five hundred and forty-seven grains of sand before Lord Thanos finally visits again.

“Boy,” Lord Thanos says, stepping through a smoky portal and into the desert.

Then he immediately lifts his hand, summoning an iron man, who clotheslines Peter before he can complete his wild leap towards the portal.

The iron man presses Peter into the sand at Lord Thanos’s feet.

“I don’t know why I always think that might work,” Peter says to the ground.

“Would you like to see if the notion can be beaten out of you?” Lord Thanos asks.

“No!” Peter says quickly. “No, no, I remember last time. I just— forgot for a second. Silly me.” Peter rolls his face to the side and gives Lord Thanos what he hopes is a smile.

“Do not let it happen again,” Lord Thanos says. He doesn’t tell the iron man to let Peter up.

Jerk.

Peter doesn’t know why he even tries talking to Lord Thanos anymore.

Well, it may have something to do with how Lord Thanos is the only person he has right now.

Peter sighs into the dirt. He wonders if the people he doesn’t remember still remember him.

Peter feels like he has people, somewhere. He’s sixty-five percent sure Lord Thanos isn’t one of them, but Lord Thanos is the only person who actually talks to Peter sometimes, so he’ll have to do, for now. The iron men, who spend more time in the desert, don’t really talk a lot. Or at all. They prefer actions to words.

Which sucks, since Peter is an overflowing bucket of word vomit. 

Alone in the desert, he recites recipes when the hunger makes his stomach cramp so bad that he can’t stand up. Even though he can’t remember how anything tastes, they still make him feel better. When Peter has to unlearn a notion or do combat training or be distracted from counting the sand in his endless desert, the iron men visit him. He quips at them nonstop while they beat him into the sand. Sometimes, Lord Thanos takes a meal with Peter and orders him to tell a story. Peter always regurgitates the plot of a Hallmark movie he once watched with— someone. If Lord Thanos and the iron men haven’t visited for some time, then Peter just repeats his name to himself, over and over and over again. 

He’s scared of the silence. It feels like it might make him fade away completely.

Lord Thanos slowly circles around Peter like an ugly purple alien shark. “You did well with the Shi’ar,” he says. “Though my soldiers report that you protected the witnesses. Again.”

Goddamn snitches. “They were the engineers,” Peter says. “What if you need another ghost heart in the future? If they were dead, who would I steal from?”

The iron man shifts its weight, so it’s now pressing the air out of Peter’s lungs.

“And the A’askvarii?” Lord Thanos continues.

Peter had spent half of that mission underwater. The salt had stung the cuts on his feet that he’d gotten from kicking through alien coral, but he’s pretty sure he managed to give an entire squad of Lord Thanos’s minions colds by insisting they stay submerged the whole time, so. It counts as a win.

Peter says, “I didn’t want to get blood on my clothes. I only have this one outfit.”

Lord Thanos gazes down at Peter impassively.

The iron man lifts one hand and strikes Peter across the face.

“Still so rebellious,” Lord Thanos says.

“Just practical,” Peter grits out. “Father,” he adds.

That gets the left corner of Lord Thanos’s lips curling.

“Well,” he sighs, “perhaps your fourth mission will be more successful. After all, this time you’ll be visiting your former planet. A treat, even though you do not deserve it.”

Peter’s heart rises in his throat. But— fourth mission? He only remembers going on two. 

Lord Thanos is looking at Peter expectantly.

“Thanks,” Peter says.

The iron man slaps him again.

“Father,” Peter spits out. He tongues the cuts on the inside of his cheeks and makes a face. They’ll heal fast, but he’ll still be tasting blood until his next meal.

Lord Thanos’s iron men suck.

“You will be retrieving the Time Stone,” Lord Thanos says. “It is a green gem, the same size as its siblings—” He lifts his left hand again, and Peter tenses instinctively. “—whom it wishes to rejoin. During your trip, you may encounter others who covet the stone. If they oppose you—“ Lord Thanos crouches down, leaning towards Peter’s face. “— kill them.”

Peter doesn’t say anything. Lord Thanos reaches out and pushes his chin upwards, so Peter has to look him in the eye.

“And this time, if you succeed,” Lord Thanos smiles, “then I will finally introduce you to my lover.” 

“I— can’t wait. Father.”

“Good.”

Then Lord Thanos presents Peter with one golden glove. “A gift for you,” he says, “Do not touch the Time Stone without it, or else its energies will tear you apart.”

“Cool,” Peter says, as unenthusiastically as he dares.

Lord Thanos grabs Peter’s left wrist and squeezes until Peter yelps. Then he shoves the glove onto Peter’s hand, where it tightens like a collar. 

“You have three days,” Lord Thanos says. He stands and walks back to the portal. “And I know you’ll be tempted, but don’t try to run. I hope at least some part of you still remembers what will happen if you do.”

“What?” Peter says, but Lord Thanos doesn’t turn. He just waves his left hand.

And even though Peter knows what’s coming, he still tries to buck off the iron man on his back. Two more iron men have to come hold him down, as a fourth approaches with a syringe fitted with a thick, black needle.

A cold metal gauntlet tugs the high neck of Peter’s suit down. 

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath. If you can’t see it, he tells himself, then it won’t hurt.

Peter is a terrible liar.

——

Like always, Peter only struggles into consciousness once he’s already at his future crime scene.

Unlike always, he wakes up alone.

Peter swivels his head around, scanning the rooftop. Usually, he’s accompanied by a squad of Lord Thanos’s soldiers, who taunt and prod and follow him around as he steals for their leader. They’re really annoying, and they try to murder everyone Peter bumps into, so Peter usually spends half his mission time committing crimes and half his mission time stopping them from committing crimes. 

It’s a tough job, but hey— It’s either this or an eternity in a desert purgatory. 

Peter’s not a good person. He can make the selfish choice.

But, Peter is supremely grateful that Lord Thanos didn’t sic any soldiers on him this time. He would never forgive himself if he lead murderous alien minions to Earth.

Earth. Wow. Once Peter’s sure he has no tagalongs, he lets himself just sit on the roof for a while, hugging his knees to his chest. He looks around.

Peter’s in the city, at night. He’s missed the night. It’s always daytime in his desert. There’s a cool breeze, and he can hear the sound of cars driving by. Someone’s snoring on the floor below him. Someone else is watching  _ Friends _ next door. Someone’s singing drunkenly in the distance, and there’s a raccoon rustling in the dumpster two blocks down the street, and he can see street lamps and stop lights and high rises with glowing windows. 

Everywhere, signs of life. It’s loud and overwhelming and smelly and wonderful.

Peter’s grinning like a fool.

But, the chill of metal on his cheek reminds him that he can’t just sit here, with his chin in his hands, and enjoy a lovely evening. 

Peter stands up and stretches, considering his next move. If Lord Thanos’s minions were here, they’d probably just shoot at Peter until he dodged into a hallway full of swinging blades or whatever death trap protecting the thing Lord Thanos wants Peter to steal this time. Thankfully, Peter’s on his own for this one, so he gets to decide how much physical pain he wants to pair his moral damage with.

Yay.

Because Lord Thanos just dropped Peter here with no guidance on how to do this crime, Peter decides to do some recon first. So, he crawls all over the building he woke up on, peering into windows and hoping no one thinks he’s a itsy-bitsy pervert and then smacks him off the side of the building with a broom or something. The building’s a big, churchy-thing with lots of tall windows that show off dark rooms filled with glass cases of exotic-looking thingies. It’s actually pretty cool, and Peter would love to spend more time exploring the place, but none of the cases are conveniently displaying a magical green rock, so he has to keep moving. 

At least none of the rooms have people in them. Peter sighs, though he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. He misses people. He hasn’t seen a human in, like, forever. 

That is, until he peeks into the ninth window on the top floor.

Peter freezes.

There’s a man inside, sitting cross-legged and facing the window. Peter almost has a heart attack before he realizes that the man’s eyes are closed. And that he’s floating a foot above the ground. And that he has an awesome goatee.

Peter doesn’t know why he feels like the goatee is the important part.

Goatee Man doesn’t move, so Peter slowly leans closer to the window. He presses his nose to the glass and stares at Goatee Man, absorbing the sight of someone who’s not actively trying to hurt him at the moment.

It’s pretty awesome.

But then Peter spots Goatee Man’s necklace. The pendant is a gaudy metal eye that looks like something only Professor Trelawney would wear, but somehow Peter just knows that the Time Stone is in there. In the ugly eye thing.

Damn. Okay. Target acquired. Peter takes a deep breath, trying not to really hate himself.

Time for crime.

Mentally apologizing to Goatee Man, Peter webs himself to the roof’s overhang, braces his feet on the glass, jumps, and swings back towards the building.

He kicks through the window with a thunderous crash.

Oops.

Peter lands in the middle of the broken glass and crouches down, instinctively ducking into the shadows, though it doesn’t feel like he’s in danger. 

Peter glances at Goatee Man. His eyes are still closed. Relieved, Peter exhales, straightening up.

Then he hisses as pain erupts from the bottom of his feet.

That was dumb. That was really, really dumb. Peter has no idea why he did that. The iron men must’ve beaten more brain cells out of him than he’d thought. Or maybe stupid is contagious. 

“Fuck them stones,” Peter mutters, as he picks his way out of the debris. 

He tiptoes towards Goatee Man, who still hasn’t moved, excluding the whole floating thing. For a user of an Infinity Stone, you’d think he’d have better security.

“I hope you have insurance,” Peter whispers, reaching for Goatee Man’s necklace.

And then something taps him on the shoulder.

“Holy sh—“ Peter spins around and whips his hands up.

The red cloak flutters back six inches. Then it waves at Peter with its right hand. With its nonexistent, cloth-y right hand.

Peter’s eyes are gonna pop out of his head.

He leaps away from the cloak and Goatee Man, wondering if it’s too late to circle his way back to the window. The cloak puts its hand down, drooping a little.

“Sorry,” Peter says. “I…don’t remember Earth having sentient outerwear.” But, really, what does Peter know? “It’s cool. You’re cool,” he assures the cloak. “Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool—“

Peter slowly backs away from the cloak, only stopping when his back hits a wall.

The cloak doesn’t crowd him, but it doesn’t move away from Goatee Man either. Maybe it’s a guard dog. A guard cloak.

“Any chance you’ll just hover there and let me take the Time Stone?” Peter asks.

The cloak flares a little. Then it swoops towards Peter, getting all up in his face. 

That seems like a no. Peter shrinks away, eyeing the window. It’s okay. He can take one cloak, even if it’s magical. He could probably pull off a dive without risking strangulation by—

“Spider-Man?”

Shit!

Goatee Man is awake. He’s staring at Peter like he’s a ghost. Or a criminal who’s trying to steal the Infinity Stone off his chest.

Which he is, so.

“Uh—Give me the Time Stone!” Peter says. “Or— Or I’ll rip up your cloak-y friend!” Peter grabs the cloak by its collar and brandishes it in Goatee Man’s direction. 

The cloak smacks Peter in the hip several times. Goatee Man doesn’t move or blink.

“Did you— Did you hear me?” Peter asks. “Give me the stone or your cloak dies!”

Peter shakes the cloak for emphasis. The cloak clocks Peter in the nose.

“What are y—“ Goatee Man says, before stopping and looking Peter up and down, pausing when he reaches Peter’s feet. “Okay,“ he starts again. “Let’s just— calm down for a second. Please put down the cloak. We can talk this over.”

Peter does not put down the cloak. 

“You’re bleeding,” Goatee Man continues. “Did you kick through the window? There might be glass in your feet— The shards have to be taken out, or you’ll risk infection.”

“Give me the Time Stone,” Peter says. His voice is shaking, and he hates this.

Goatee Man pauses.

Finally, he says, “We can talk about it. Will you put the cloak down, and let me treat your feet? I promise that we can negotiate about the Time Stone afterwards.”

It feels like a lie. Peter almost knows for certain that it’s a lie.

He still says, “Do you swear?”

Goatee Man looks at him. Really looks at him. For the first time in a long time, Peter feels like he’s being looked at like a person.

“I swear,” Goatee Man says.

Peter takes a deep breath. He puts down the cloak.

“Thank you,” Goatee Man says, standing up. The cloak whooshes away from Peter, putting Goatee Man in between them.

Peter nods, ashamed.

“I’m sorry I threatened to kill you,” Peter tells the cloak.

“It doesn’t mind,” Goatee Man says. The cloak makes a couple of angry gestures and then turns its back huffily. 

Goatee Man grabs a first aid kit from a nearby dresser. He walks over to Peter, eyes distant and guard down. He kneels to look at Peter’s feet. His pendant swings out and away from his chest.

Towards Peter.

_ —others who covet the stone. If they oppose you, kill them. _

_ Kill them. _

Peter raises his hands.

“Now tell me,” Goatee Man says, “Where’ve you bee—“

“I’m sorry about this, too,” Peter blurts out. And then he lunges forward and swipes the chain off Goatee Man’s neck.

“Wait—“ Goatee Man begins, but Peter’s already diving out the window.

He lands hard, tumbling onto the sidewalk. He can still hear Goatee Man yelling, but before he can give into the temptation to look back, he takes two steps forward, feet aching, and starts swinging. 

It’s safer this way, Peter tells himself. Safer for Goatee Man, his cloak, and for Peter.

He swings faster, letting the webs pull unforgivingly at his shoulders. He can’t hear Goatee Man or the cloak or anyone else chasing after him, which means he’s gotten away with his crime of the trip. He’s stolen the Time Stone. Lord Thanos will be satisfied.

Peter is literally garbage.

He should just swing himself into the nearest dumpster and let Lord Thanos pluck the Time Stone from his corpse.

But, before Peter reaches a dumpster, he lands in a park. His breathing is shallow, and his eyes and lungs and arms are burning. Dizzy, he throws himself onto a park bench and checks out his feet. 

Ew. Peter makes a face.

Ah, well, he’ll sleep it off.

Peter lies down on the bench and turns Goatee Man’s necklace over and over in his hands. He could wear the pendant himself, but that would be a crime against fashion, and Peter can only handle doing so much crime in one night. So, he pries the pendant open like he’s harvesting a clam.

And there it is. The little green rock that’s causing Peter so much trouble.

For one minute, Peter just stares at the Time Stone, considering whether or not to pick it up with his un-gauntleted right hand. Or maybe he should just eat the thing. Do Infinity Stones dissolve in stomach acid? Or would Peter’s attempted possession of the stone just cause Lord Thanos to smite his whole planet?

Peter doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a single goddamn thing. So, he yanks the Time Stone out of Goatee Man’s pendant with his left hand.

The stone melts into Peter’s metal glove, which seals around it like an eyelid, leaving a lump in the center of his palm.

“Well,” Peter says, staring down at the apparently tumorigenic gauntlet, “That‘s really dumb and inconvenient.” If Mr. S— someone saw this crime against engineering, then they would totally freak out.

Peter presses his hands to his face. The Time Stone lump digs into his cheek, and he sighs.

There’s a part of him that’s screaming and crying, telling him to go and search for his people, to find them, to find himself. But, that part of Peter is stupid. Lord Thanos has Peter shackled. Literally. If his gauntlet doesn’t have some sort of tracker built into it, then Lord Thanos is dumber than Peter had thought. 

Peter doesn’t remember who his people are. But, he’d eat the Time Stone before putting any of them in danger.

Peter folds his hands over his stomach and stares up at the starless sky.

There’s no point in looking. Lord Thanos will come get Peter soon anyway. The best thing he can do right now is rest, heal, and maybe explore the city, so he has something nice to remember when Lord Thanos traps him back in the desert.

Peter closes his eyes. He counts grains of sand.

——

Peter wakes up to buzzing in his ears.

“Holy sh—“

The buzzing turns into offended beeping, as the red and blue drone is clipped by one of Peter’s flailing hands. It clatters onto the grass, eight arms waving around angrily, one of them visibly dented.

“Sorry!” Peter says. He picks the drone up and straightens out its leg. “I’m really sorry. But, you shouldn’t ambush random people sleeping on park benches.”

The drone beeps again, more shrilly this time, and jabs its still somewhat janky leg towards the arm of the bench, where a reusable bag holding a bottle of water and two bananas is sitting.

“Oh,” Peter says. “Is that for me?”

More beeping.

“Thanks!” Peter says. “But, I’m good. I’m sure there’s someone who needs it more.” He tries to hand the bag back to the drone.

The drone beeps aggressively at Peter for six seconds before buzzing off into the sky, rejoining the small flock of other red and blue drones that are flying overhead.

Peter slowly retracts his hand.

“Uh, okay,” he says. 

Now that he thinks about it, he could use some water. The bottle is red and blue as well, and the water inside tastes amazing. The bananas are awesome, too. After way too much time spent surviving on alien goop, Peter can appreciate food that doesn’t come pre-chewed. 

His head feels better. Less pounding. Has he had a dehydration headache this entire time, or was that just from the repeated, iron-men-inflicted concussions?

Hmm.

While Peter stares down at the empty water bottle, evaluating the amount brain damage he must’ve sustained at some point, someone interrupts his contemplation with—

“Hey, nice costume!”

Peter looks up.

It’s a lady in joggers, carrying an armful of shopping bags. She nods towards his torso and grins.

“Oh, um,” Peter says, glancing down at the spider insignia on his chest. He’s been wearing this onesie for so long that he doesn’t really think about it anymore. “I just had this lying around.”

“Well, it looks great! You know, my son spent an entire day browsing shops for suits, and he still couldn’t find one as fitted as yours,” The lady looks Peter up and down, and then she frowns, gaze lingering on his feet and left arm. Then she spots the water bottle he’s holding.

“Oh!” The lady says. She pauses, then continues, “Will you watch my bags for a sec, honey?”

“Uh—“

The lady drops her shopping bags at Peter’s feet and jogs to a nearby hotdog stand.

Peter stares after her, wordless.

After two minutes, the lady rushes back. Peter hands her her bags, but she makes no move to take them. Instead, she says, “Here,” and holds out a hotdog wrapped in a napkin. “I’ll trade you,” she adds.

Peter hesitates. He carefully loops the bags over her arm, then sits back down, staring up at her face.

He doesn’t really know what’s happening right now. Is this one of Lord Thanos’s tests? Will an iron man come and murk this lady if he accepts the wiener from her?

“Take it,” the lady says. “Please. It looks like you need it.” She smiles gently. It’s a nice smile.

Peter doesn’t think Lord Thanos could come up with someone so nice. Even the Infinity Stones have their limits.

Peter takes the hotdog. He’s careful not to let their fingers brush.

“Thank you,” he tells the lady.

“No problem,” she grins. “Happy Spider-Man Day.”

Peter blinks.

He looks down at the hotdog. It has a little ketchup face drawn on it, and there’s a crisscrossing mustard pattern underneath that looks like a clumsy but enthusiastic attempt at a web.

“Spider-Man Day?” he says.

But the lady’s already walked away. It’s just Peter, his water bottle, and the hotdog now.

“Spider-Man?” Peter asks the hotdog. It sounds like something a little kid would make up.

The hotdog doesn’t respond.

Peter stares into the hotdog’s big ketchup eyes. For some reason, he feels…kinda weird. And not just because he’s trying to commune with a hotdog.

“Spider-Man,” Peter says to himself. “Spider-Man, Spider-Man, Spider-Man.” 

He frowns.

Why does it sound so familiar?

He looks back down at the spider on his chest.

Spider-Man...

Huh.

Then something nudges Peter’s knee.

“What the—“ Peter whips his head up.

It’s a dog. It’s a grey and white cutie who’s pressing his chin into Peter’s knee and drooling all over his leg, eyeing his hotdog. The dog wags his tail when he notices Peter looking. Peter instantly falls in love.

“Aw, aren’t you a sweet puppy? Yeah? Do you want some hotdog, boy?” Peter pinches off a chunk of meat and dangles it above the dog’s head.

“Can you sit for me?” he asks. “Sit?”

It turns out that the dog can sit. He can also lie down, roll over, and shake. Peter doesn’t ask him to play dead, but he does feed him the whole hotdog, bun and all. The dog puts his front paws onto the bunch and tries to wash Peter’s face in thanks. In return, Peter gives the dog a fierce ear rub.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Peter says. He’s only spent half a day on Earth, but he already doesn’t want to go. Earth is obviously the best— There are dogs here! Why aren’t there any dogs in space? Where are all the space dogs?

Well, they’re probably all being trained by Lord Thanos to be murder-y dog minions.

Peter shudders, then pushes that thought away when the dog presses his wet nose to Peter’s ear. It tickles.

He carefully wraps his arms around the dog. He’s soft. 

Peter closes his eyes—

“Max.”

Peter opens his eyes, quickly. 

He lets go of the dog— Max?— who jumps off the bench and goes skipping around the feet of a man, who’s standing way closer than he should be without Peter sensing his presence. He has a cool haircut.

“Your dog’s really cute,” Peter says.

Max’s dad doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at Peter. 

Peter doesn’t know why, but he feels really nervous.

“Uh,” Peter says. “Uh, hope you don’t mind, but I just fed him an entire hotdog. I mean, I broke it into small pieces first, but—“ Max’s dad narrows his eyes. Peter panics. “—Sorry! It’s just— He was looking at me and— and you were the one who let him run off leash, so technically this is your fault.” Peter points at the man accusingly. Max wags his tail.

Max’s dad still doesn’t say anything. Or move. For some reason, that makes him even scarier.

“Sorry!” Peter blurts out. “I didn’t mean that! I didn’t—“

Max’s dad raises his hand in the universal sign for shut the fuck up.

Peter shuts the fuck up.

“It’s fine,” Max’s dad says.

They stare at each other in silence.

Max pants happily.

After a minute and twenty seconds, Peter stands up and says, “Uh, yeah, so— Sorry. Again. I’m just...gonna go now.”

“Wait.” 

Peter freezes.

Max’s dad pulls a pack of CVS gauze pads and a roll of ACE bandages out of the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Sit,” he says.

Peter sits. So does Max.

Max’s dad kneels down in front of Peter and grabs his left ankle. Peter tenses. 

Max’s dad glances up at him. “I’m gonna wrap your feet,” he says, in a way that brooks no argument.

“Oh! Uh, thank you.”

Max’s dad wraps Peter’s feet up, even brushing the grass and dirt off his soles. He’s surprisingly gentle about it, considering that Peter’s cuts are mostly healed by now.

“Thank you,” Peter says. “Really, thank you so much.”

Max’s dad stands up and says, “You’ll need some actual shoes soon.”

Peter shrugs. He won’t be on Earth soon.

Max’s dad raises an eyebrow slightly, but he doesn’t add anything else when Peter stands back up and says he has to go again. He’s pretty sad about it, because Max and his dad are both so nice. But, that just means that Peter shouldn’t hang around them longer than he already has.

“Bye, sir. Thanks again for the bandages!”

Max’s dad nods. “Say bye, Max.”

Max runs up to Peter, shoving his snout into Peter’s hip.

“Good boy!” Peter gives his ears one last rub. “Bye-bye, Max.”

Peter thanks Max’s dad one last time and then jogs off.

When he looks back, he sees Max’s dad clipping Max’s leash on with one hand. In the other, he’s holding a cell phone.

——

The streets are busier than Peter had expected them to be at this hour.

Well, Peter doesn’t know exactly what hour it is. But, it seems early for so many kids to be out of bed and happy about it. 

And they are really happy. Like, there’s a little boy skipping circles around his parents as they walk. He’s chattering nonstop. Three teenage girls are laughing so hard that they’re wheezing, one of them grabbing another so that she doesn’t stumble off the sidewalk. A middle schooler notices Peter looking, gives him a solemn thumbs up, takes a running start, and does a flip off the side of a building. Several passersby whoop. His friends cheer and pat him on the back. 

Everyone is wearing something red or blue.

As Peter follows the flow of the crowd, entranced and bemused, lots of people compliment his suit. Some of them also invite Peter to walk with them, or they try to hand him a breakfast sandwich, or they ask him if he needs help. Peter’s confusion must be written all over his face.

Peter always thanks them, then quickly slips away into the crowd. He’d suspect that everyone in the city had gotten possessed by the spirits of Stepford wives, if their smiles didn’t look so real.

After twenty minutes of walking, Peter finally finds out what everyone is so happy about. 

Standing in the middle of the blocked-off street filled with tents and booths and surrounded by a flood of people, Peter stares up at the digital billboard that’s lighting up half the street.

Spider-Man?

The video of a figure in a red and blue suit helping an old man cross the street ripples away, so the billboard now reads:

“HAPPY SPIDER-MAN DAY!”

Underneath, in a smaller font:

“Spread a little friendliness in your neighborhood. Visit spidermanday.org to view the list of participating organizations.”

Peter doesn’t know why, but he can’t move, and he can’t look away. Smiling people swirl around him, as he stands there, frozen. 

It feels like his heart is trembling.

He presses his hand to his chest, right above the spider.

Spider-Man?

“Excuse me!” 

Peter jerks back.

A stack of quarter cards are shoved into his face. 

“Have you gotten a stamp card yet?” A man says, smiling. He’s wearing a Spider-Man Day snapback.

Peter stares at him like he’s the alien. The man’s smile slowly fades.

“Do you have a stamp card?” he asks again.

“Oh, um, uh—“ Peter blinks rapidly.

The man’s face softens.

“Tourist?” 

More like traveling thief-minion of an alien warlord. “Uh, yeah.”

“Well, you blend in pretty well.” The man glances at the spider on Peter’s chest, then winks. “Here’s how all this works: Each booth—“ He gestures to the lines of tents in the street. “—has an activity you can do. Finish the activity, and you’ll get a stamp. Once you get fifteen stamps, fill out your information on the back of the card, and you can enter our raffle. We’ve got a lot of cool stuff this year— including nineteen StarkPads! You got it?” The man hands Peter a stamp card.

Peter slowly reaches out and takes it.

“Yeah,” he says, dazed. “Thank you.”

“No problem! Have fun, and happy Spider-Man Day!”

“Happy…Spider-Man Day.” 

Peter looks at the stamp card in his hand. It’s covered with tiny Spider-Men. One of them is pulling toilet paper off of his foot.

“Okay,” Peter says to himself. This might as well happen.

He doesn’t have a lot of time left anyway. Why not have fun?

Peter starts at the beginning of the street and works his way down. He doesn’t ask for stamps, but they’re given to him anyway, as he answers public transit trivia and helps two kids complete a circuit board, powering up a small toy train. He throws darts at a board covered with balloons, winning a Spider-Man stress ball, which he gives to the little girl who clapped when he popped five balloons in a row. He tries mystery juice and plays board games, and he spends at least half an hour petting the dogs that an animal shelter brought with them. 

Dogs really are the best. Peter’s gonna miss dogs.

There are more educational booths, too. Booths that have pamphlets on sex trafficking, one where EMTs are teaching people how to perform CPR and identify the symptoms of a stroke, one where college students are holding a round table discussion on recognizing and preventing sexual harassment. In one section, the local fire station has built a foam obstacle course that they’re coaching little kids through, telling them how to stay low and escape a burning building while avoiding smoke inhalation. Across the street, there’s a police car that kids are crawling in and out of, playing with the lights, while their parents talk to the policemen. The discussions sound a bit tense, so Peter wanders over to see if he can help, but there’s a lady in another Spider-Man Day snapback who’s facilitating, so everything seems okay. 

As Peter listens, he notices that one policeman keeps glancing at his face. Once he meets her eyes, she frowns, reaching for her pants pocket. 

Peter quickly turns and shifts towards the next tent. After that, he makes sure that he’s always facing away from the police’s booth.

He can’t forget that he’s a criminal. He needs to be careful, if he wants to keep this one good day.

Peter doesn’t know how long he stays at the fair. Long enough that the man who gave him his stamp card bumps into him again and offers him his snapback, grinning and pointing at his own nose. That means it’s definitely been longer than Peter should’ve risked. He’s putting everyone here in danger. 

But, Peter just can’t bring himself to leave. He doesn’t want to go.

Eventually, once he’s eaten three samples of Spidey-Berry sherbet, collected four ballpoint pens, slipped his completed stamp card into a distracted middle schooler’s back pocket, and gone back to pet the dogs one last time, Peter plants himself in the shade between two booths, across the street from the billboard.

He stands there, and he looks.

The “Happy Spider-Man Day!” message flashes on and off. In between, the billboard plays clips of Spider-Man. A couple of them are clean and polished, but most are blurry or shaky, obviously filmed on smartphones.

There’s a video of Spider-Man catching a car, Spider-Man carrying an old lady’s groceries, Spider-Man giving tourists directions, Spider-Man carrying a fussy cat out of a tree, Spider-Man playing jump rope with a little girl, Spider-Man staring at a chessboard with his hands on his head as the delighted middle schooler sitting across from him points and laughs, Spider-Man holding a bunch of geckos in his cupped hands, Spider-Man flipping around a pigeon and then slamming into a building...

It’s so obvious, how much this city loves him.

Peter’s eyes are burning.

He takes a deep breath, and he holds it.

He wonders if Lord Thanos dressed him like these people’s hero on purpose, to make his crime that much more heinous. The thought makes him feel ten times more disgusting than before.

Peter’s trying to talk himself into leaving once he runs out of air, when, suddenly, something is shoved into his left palm. 

Startled, Peter exhales and clenches the gauntlet instinctively. 

He looks down. 

Peter’s holding the arm of a Spider-Man plushie. He stares into its blank white eyes, confused.

Then something tiny folds around his right pinky and ring finger.

Peter flinches.

It’s warm.

“Hold my hand,” a high voice demands.

Peter turns his head.

There’s a little girl, staring up at him with big, brown eyes. She’s wearing a huge red and blue backpack.

“I’m holding your hand,” she says slowly, “so you have to hold my hand back.” She squeezes Peter’s fingers demonstratively.

When Peter doesn’t react, she says, louder this time, “Hold my hand! Or I’ll tell Daddy you broke the rules, and then he’ll sell all your toys.”

Well. 

Peter knows a threat when he hears one.

He carefully curls his fingers around the little girl’s palm.

Then he says, “Uh, but— Why are you holding my hand?”

“Mommy told me that if she and Daddy aren’t here, I should stay with someone I know and wait ’til they come back.” The little girl swings their hands back and forth.

“And I’m someone you know?” Peter says.

“Yup.” The little girl pops the “p.” “You’re Peter.”

She sounds one hundred percent sure.

Peter holds her hand a little tighter. He suddenly has to blink back tears.

It’s been forever since he’s heard someone say his name. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it, until this very moment.

Peter takes a deep breath, holds for three seconds, and then breathes out.

It’s weird to hear his name from a random kid on the street, though. He should probably be more concerned, but right now all he wants to do is marvel. And maybe cry.

“You know me?” Peter asks again. He points at himself, knocking the Spider-Man plushie against his chest.

The little girl looks at him like he’s an idiot. She’s adorable. Peter resists the urge to coo.

“Duh,” she says. “You’re in all of Daddy’s stories. And FRIDAY’s videos.”

“Stories?” Peter says, dumbfounded. “Videos?” 

Peter is totally freaking out. This little girl—who just walked up to him on the street!— knows someone who has proof of his existence. Someone who knew Peter, before Lord Thanos. One of his people? 

Peter scans the side of her face. If he’d met her before— No, she would’ve been, like, an infant then. Or a toddler at least, and she mentioned stories and videos, not Peter in real life, so— her parents? Her daddy? Peter doesn’t... But, those eyes, and the nose, and— and even that way of speaking...

Don’t they seem— 

But before Peter can finish that thought, the little girl turns to him fully, and he spots the graphic on her T-shirt.

He freezes.

It looks like an iron man’s faceplate.

The little girl is saying something, but Peter can’t hear her over the rushing in his ears.

“Wh-What’s on your shirt?” he interrupts, trying not to recoil.

The little girl blinks, then looks down at her belly. 

“Uh, Iron Man?” she says.

An iron man. Peter knew it.

Fuck. 

What does this mean? Why? How does Earth know about the iron men? They print their faces on shirts. What in the—

Did Thanos— Has Lord Thanos—

“Oh!” the little girl says, tugging her hand out of Peter’s. “I wanna show you my Christmas gift. Auntie May said you’d like it.”

Oblivious to Peter’s slowly mounting panic, she shrugs off her backpack, unzips the largest pouch, and takes something out. She pulls it on over her head and turns, her arm outstretched, palm up.

Peter’s heart tries to punch out of his ribcage.

Why does this little girl have one of the iron men’s helmets?!

Okay, it’s blue where the real helmets are red, but still. The iron men are Peter’s personal tormentors. So, how...

Peter hunches over, arms curling around his stomach as he breathes hard.

Is this a threat? Is it a trick? Peter counts grains of sand in his head. He tries to think about the implications. If this little girl knows the iron men, what does that mean for Peter’s people? 

Has Lord Thanos been watching them this entire time? Watching, waiting for Peter to disobey, and then—

And then—

“You don’t like it?” the little girl says, pushing the helmet back up. Her eyes are wide, when Peter glances up. The helmet gleams between her little fingers.

“No! I like it,” Peter insists, staring back down at his shoes and trying not to hurl. “It— It’s really cool.” 

Peter closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing. He hears the little girl zip the thing back into her backpack.

She pries at Peter’s fingers until he stops pressing his right arm into his stomach, so she can hold his hand again.

“Let’s go get Mommy,” the little girl says, peering up at Peter’s face. “Mommy will help you.”

“No, no,” Peter gasps out. “I-I’m okay. But,” he adds, “we should find your mommy anyway.” If Lord Thanos really has been watching them, then Peter has to stay away. He refuses to put anyone in danger. 

Peter takes a deep breath, then straightens up.

“Uh, where did you last see—“

The little girl points.

“Mommy!” 

And then she’s tearing off into the crowd.

“Wait—“ Peter rushes forward, but he’s immediately cut off by a stream of people. He goes onto his tiptoes, searching for that mop of brown hair. The little girl forgot her Spider-Man toy, and on the off chance that she didn’t actually see her mommy, Peter needs to be there. She’s so adorable. What if she gets kidnapped? Or what if it’s like in  _ Minority Report _ and someone—

Suddenly, the crowd whoops and cheers, raising their arms and waving. Peter curses mentally. He’ll never find that kid now.

Peter moves around until he finds a gap between the limbs, and then he sees—

An iron man standing on the other side of the street. It’s looking right at Peter.

Shit.

Lord Thanos must have found out that Peter completed the mission early. Or unsatisfactorily. Or maybe he just misses watching Peter get beat up in his own personal desert hell.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s sent an iron man after Peter. 

Peter’s fucked.

At least the iron man’s looking at him and not the little girl. Hopefully, Lord Thanos never finds out that he talked to her. 

God, please don’t let him find out.

Peter takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. But, he can’t. For the first time in a long time, he’s not just scared.

He’s angry.

This isn’t fair! Lord Thanos can’t just secretly creep on Peter’s people and then arbitrarily go back on his word! He promised Peter three days on Earth! It hasn’t even been one yet.

Peter did what he was told. He stole, he threatened, he became a criminal for Lord Thanos. And this is what he gets?

The surveillance, the implicit threats, the beatings. A lifetime in the desert.

So, how does Peter know that Lord Thanos won’t just sic his iron men on Peter’s people once he leaves?

He can’t go yet. He needs to protect them. He wants to see them.

Peter squeezes the Spider-Man plushie in his hand. 

He doesn’t want to go.

The iron man begins moving towards Peter. Slowly first, then faster and faster, shouldering members of the crowd aside.

Peter inhales shakily.

Peter’s never beaten the iron men before. They usually leave him bleeding, choked out, and curled up on his side in the sand. But, they’ve never fought him one on one before, either. Also, Peter doesn’t think they have actual brains. He can work with that. Peter can fight an iron man to protect his people. And to protect himself. After spending a day in the city, Peter doubts he could survive the desert again. He can’t go back to not having a name. He can’t go back. He doesn’t want to go back. 

He doesn’t want to go.

The iron man is twenty feet away. 

Peter counts to three. There are too many people around. He can’t let any of them get hurt.

Fifteen feet.

He breathes out. He hopes the little girl found her mommy. He can’t help her look anymore, but he can keep her safe.

Ten.

The iron man lifts his hand. 

Peter can almost taste the blood in his mouth. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he has the sweetness of the sherbet, the juice, the bananas from this morning. Everyone has been so kind. Even their Spider-Man is more kind than heroic.

Peter could be kind, too. He doesn’t have to be what Lord Thanos wants him to be. 

Come on, Peter.

Five.

Peter needs to keep his people safe. He doesn’t want to go.

So.

Peter looks the iron man in the face.

He’s not going.

Peter spins around, and he runs.


	2. if i try, maybe i can see your shadow

Of course, it’s dumb to try and out-swing an enemy who’s five feet behind you. Especially when that enemy can fly.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Peter chants. As the sound of repulsors gets louder and louder, he stops shooting webs and instead grabs onto a streetlight, swinging around and slinging himself into an alleyway.

He lands in a dumpster, which is just perfect.

Peter bangs his left hand against the corner of the dumpster, trying to get the gauntlet to loosen. Once the dumpster becomes dented out of shape, Peter starts yanking at the edge of the glove instead. The bones of his wrist groan in protest.

“I’ll chop you off if I have to!” Peter yells at his hand, like a maniac. He’s a maniac. He’s going crazy with panic.

Maybe he should break his hand. That’s a thing, right? Breaking your hand to get out of handcuffs?

Something heavy lands outside of Peter’s dumpster, and he almost starts crying.

But, Peter’s trying to be brave, so instead he says, “Hey,” while webbing himself out of the dumpster and into the corner of the alley. He looks down at the iron man and waves the gauntlet. 

“Don’t suppose you could break my hand for me before trying to take me to your leader?”

The iron man doesn’t move. It just looks at Peter.

“No?” Peter says, still tearing at the gauntlet. “Jeez, the one time I actually ask you to hurt me.”

And then Peter throws himself at the thing.

Immediately, Peter realizes that this iron man is different. It doesn’t even try to hit Peter, for one thing. That’s weird. Peter’s never met an iron man who doesn’t want to beat the shit out of him. Then again, Peter’s also never met an iron man who can dodge all of his attacks, like it already knows what he’s about to do.

It sucks.

When another one of Peter’s webs goes wide, he says, frustrated, “When did Lord Thanos code another learning algorithm into you? Was it before or after he sent you to spy on my people like an obsessive boyfriend?”

Peter doesn’t expect an answer, so he flinches backwards when the iron man says, “ _ Lord _ Thanos?” 

And maybe Peter has gone crazy, because the voice is mechanical, but its intonation almost sounds human to him. Like there’s a person wearing the armor.

Peter shakes that thought away.

“Hey, you can talk!” he says. “Maybe Lord Thanos has been listening to my suggestions.”

Peter lunges towards the iron man again, but this time it catches Peter’s wrists and pins him against the dumpster. Part of its suit flows onto Peter’s hands, gluing him to the metal. When Peter tries to kick, he finds out that his feet have been given the same treatment.

“Huh,” Peter says, pulling frantically at the iron-man cuffs. “This is new.” He stares into the iron man’s glowing eyes and tries not to vomit.

The iron man looks back, holding onto his wrists so tightly that it almost hurts.

“So, what’s on the menu this time?” Peter says. “A nice choking, some good kidney strikes? I should warn you that Earth’s asphalt doesn’t absorb blood nearly as well as the sand from—“

“Peter,” the iron man says quietly. 

Peter freezes. 

Then he yells, “How do you know that name?!”

This can’t be happening.

Peter struggles against the dumpster, which buckles. “You— Not even Lord Thanos—“ He takes a break from yelling to cough up the contents of his stomach onto the iron man’s boots. “—If you hurt someone— If— If you hurt my family, I’ll kill you! I swear! I’ll send your head back to your master in a box, and— and then I’ll eat the Time Stone and die with it, and he’ll never get it! He won’t win! He’ll never win!”

As Peter yells, the iron man keeps saying, “Peter,” in a low, broken voice. “Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter—“ It reaches for Peter’s face, but Peter flinches back, hitting his head on the dumpster. 

The iron man lets go of his wrists and backs up a step, holding its hands up.

Peter takes this opportunity to slam his back into the dumpster, denting it enough to slip out of the iron man’s cuffs, and then he swings out of the alleyway.

He needs to go back to the fair. If that iron man knows his name, then—

Peter refuses to think about it. He’ll go check on the little girl and make sure she’s okay. He still needs to return her toy.

But, the iron man is flying after him.

“Go away!” Peter screams. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Surprisingly, that’s what makes the iron man brake to a halt, hovering in midair. 

Huh.

Okay then.

Distracted, Peter doesn’t notice that his right web shooter is empty until he’s in the arc of his swing, and he doesn’t feel the next web catch.

For a millisecond, he’s suspended in the air, weightless.

“Oh, shit,” Peter says, looking at his wrist in betrayal.

He falls.

Someone screams his name, right before his head hits the concrete.

——

“— to him. He was trying to claw his hand off.”

“No, I— If you guys could just— don’t. I’m one hundred percent sure. I did the scans. I checked everything. It’s him—“

“— God, he looks exactly the same. Well, his hair’s a bit longer, and he looks like shit. But, other than that. It’s like they froze him in fucking carbonite or—”

“— I don’t know, Nat. I— Of course, I will. You— Why would I even consider— Okay, I will. Yup. We’ll be waiting.”

Peter wakes up slowly, in parts.

His hearing comes first, then touch, then smell. Vision is holding out on him, mostly because he can’t seem to get his eyes open. He’s comfy. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s in danger. 

But then something’s moving in the air.

Peter opens his eyes just in time to grab the wrist that’s an inch away from the spider on his chest.

“No,” Peter says. “Please.” He squints at the hand, which slowly retreats and then closes into a fist. The fist leads to an arm, which leads to a shoulder, which leads to a neck, which leads to a face. It’s a good face. 

Peter informs the face of this. The face looks concerned.

Well, it’s not Peter’s fault that words are hard. His tongue aches; he must have bitten it at some point. It’ll definitely hurt more when his head feels less fuzzy.

Cognitive recalibration, Peter thinks.

“Yeah, buddy, you hit your head pretty hard.”

Did Peter say that out loud?

“Yup.”

Peter blinks. 

“How do you feel, kid?” says the man with the face. He has dark circles under his eyes and a goatee and a glowing triangle-y thing attached to his shirt that should remind Peter of the iron men but doesn’t, for some reason. 

Hmm.

Hold on.

Peter sits up and immediately regrets it when his stomach decides to express how much it didn’t appreciate moving.

After he’s sure he won’t hurl on the nice  _ Star Wars _ blanket that has pooled into his lap, Peter says, “Wh-What happened to the iron man?” 

The man, whose hands are fluttering over Peter’s back like he’s afraid Peter will melt if he touches him, pauses.

“That— thing, that was chasing me,” Peter explains. “With the glowing eyes and all the metal. Did you— It didn’t hurt anyone, did it?”

The man sits back down, in the chair next to the bed Peter’s in. Peter knows he should be more concerned about waking up in some guy’s bed, but for some reason, he just— isn’t. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because the man has a good face. Maybe it’s the  _ The Empire Strikes Back _ poster on the wall opposite him. Maybe it’s the head injury. 

Anyway, there’s a window next to the bed, so Peter can see that he’s still in the city. He’s safe.

“No,” the man finally says, snapping Peter’s attention back to him. He has the strangest look on his face. “No, you were the only one he hurt.”

“Oh,” Peter says, relaxing. “Good.”

“Nope, not good.” The man extends a hand towards Peter again, but he redirects it before touching him and straightens the blanket instead. Peter appreciates it. “And you never answered my question— You feeling alright?”

“I’m okay,” Peter says, though he still feels kinda bleary. When the man shoots him a look, Peter adds, “I’ve had worse.”

The man slumps down a little in his chair. He searches Peter’s face. Peter stares back, curious.

The man’s eyes are red, and his hair is messy. It makes Peter feel— something. It’s weird. He gets the feeling that this man should always be neatly put together.

Unable to stop himself, Peter blurts out, “What’s all that grey stuff in your hair?”

The man blinks. Then he raises an eyebrow. 

“It’s just…grey hair.”

“Oh,” Peter says. Awkward. “Sorry.”

“Don’t—“ The man shakes his head, looking down. “Kid, please don’t say that to me.”

He sounds really sad. Instinctively, Peter reaches out and pats him on the hand.

The man curls his fingers around Peter’s, rubbing his thumb across Peter’s knuckles, before looking back up.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

Peter hesitates.

He says, “…Should I? I mean, you look familiar, but—“ The man presses his lips together. “— I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—“

“Oh, yeah, sorry! I mean—Uh.”

The man huffs out a breath. He turns Peter’s hand over in his and traces the lines of his suit. Even through the fabric, his fingertips feel warm.

Peter’s now ninety-nine percent sure that this man knows him from before. Why else would he be so nice to him?

“What’s your name?” Peter asks.

The man looks up, eyes wide. “Tony,” he says, after a moment of hesitation.

“Tony,” Peter tries. It doesn’t really roll off the tongue, but whatever. “Hi, I’m Peter.”

“I know,” Tony says softly.

“That’s what I thought,” Peter replies, pleased to have his suspicions confirmed, “but you kept calling me kid.”

Tony snorts and immediately replies, “I’ll stop calling you kid when you stop calling me Mr. S—“

He suddenly cuts himself off, probably because he’s noticed Peter’s jaw dropping open.

“Pete?”

“I,” Peter inhales shakily. “I— I do know you. You…”

The images swim back and forth in his brain, like a dream in a dream.

Peter slowly moves his hand up, and he taps on the glowy thing attached to Tony’s shirt.

“You… in the desert. You— You died. You were dead.”

Peter stares at Tony’s face, now able to visualize it bloody and slack. He doesn’t have everything back, but he can recall some bits and pieces now. 

Fighting. The flash of Infinity Stones on Thanos’s gauntlet. The panic blurring his vision. The punched-in-the-gut feeling of stumbling upon Tony’s dead body. More blood in the desert. More blood on his hands.

Peter tries to take a deep breath.

Remembering is awful. 

He suddenly understands why he forgot so much.

Tony brushes his thumb against Peter’s cheek, and that’s when Peter feels the hot tears leaking out of his eyes.

Then he hears Tony babbling, too.

“—Shh, shh— Please don’t cry. Damn it, why didn’t I ever get any better at this? Don’t cry, kid. I didn’t die. How could I die? I’m Ir— invincible. I’m gonna live forever. Soon you’ll be complaining about how you’ll never get the chance to inherit anything from my will— Well, you’ll need all your memories back first, but—“

Tony’s very loud. He talks and talks and talks until Peter feels like he can breathe again.

It’s nice. After the oppressive silence of the desert, Peter really likes how other people on Earth exist and are willing to talk to him.

He is still recovering from a head injury, though.

Peter takes a deep breath, holds it for one second, and then slaps a hand over Tony’s mouth.

“Stop,” he says, wiping the remaining tears off on his shoulder. “I’m okay. It was just— a shock.”

Tony looks at him for three seconds, then nods.

“…You’re really not dead?” Peter asks, just to be sure.

“Well, I don’t feel very dead,” Tony says, muffled. He peels Peter’s hand off his face and goes back to holding it. “And I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, so you don’t have to worry about it. Hey, we can not-die together, how about that? As long as you don’t die, I don’t die— Pinky promise.”

Tony lifts his left pinky up. Peter doesn’t move. 

He hasn’t forgotten about the gauntlet on his left hand. He’s not gonna touch Tony with it.

Also, Peter’s not five.

After a moment, Tony retrieves his left hand and uses it to rub his temples instead. “Shit,” he mutters, “I’ve been spending too much time with Morgan.”

“Morgan?”

“Right, you wouldn’t— Morgan’s my daughter,” Tony taps his watch, materializing a holographic image of himself, a lady with orange hair, and a little girl. The little girl. “She’s three.”

Tony smiles.

Peter’s gonna fucking choke.

“That’s your kid?” he sputters. “That’s  _ your _ kid?”

“Uh, yeah?” Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Oh my God,” Peter breathes. “I can’t—”

Because— Of course. That makes so much sense.

Terrible, terrible sense. Peter feels his breathing speeding up, and he tries to hide it. He counts Tony’s heartbeats. They’re pretty fast and a little uneven. He should get that checked out.

“What’s up, Pete?” Tony says, pushing Peter’s bangs out of his face. His brow is furrowed. He has more wrinkles now. 

“It— It’s nothing,” Peter says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Really. Just— I can’t believe you managed to raise such a cute kid.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“Excuse me, I don’t wanna hear this from someone who doesn’t even remember me completely. Tell me about it later, when you know exactly who I am.”

“I don’t need to know exactly who you are to know that that kid gets all her cuteness from her mom,” Peter replies absentmindedly. Is he sweating? He feels like he’s sweating.

“You better not infect my daughter with that cheek, kid. I won’t have two sassy children in this household. But, anyway—“ Tony leans back in his chair. “— Since you’re looking better, you wanna meet Morgan now? She’s spent her entire life dying to see you— I bet she’s clawing at the walls right now, trying to tunnel her way over here. You feeling up to it?”

“Y-Yeah,” Peter nods. “Yeah, I’d love that. But, first, could you— get me a glass of water? Please?”

“Sure.” Tony stands and walks to the door. “You’ll definitely need to warm up before facing off with Morgan. She gets her chattiness from me.”

“Great,” Peter says weakly.

Tony pauses in the doorway.

Then he turns and says, “You know, you don’t have to be nervous. You’re Morgan’s favorite hero. I’ve told her a ton of stories about you and Spider-Man— Actually, now that I think about it, I should’ve just sponsored a cartoon show.”

“Wait,” Peter says. “Spider-Man? Like, Spider-Man Day Spider-Man?” He points at himself, incredulous. “Do I know  _ Spider-Man _ ?”

Tony blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it. The corners of his lips spasm.

“Oh, kid,” he says. “I can already tell that getting your brain back in order is gonna be very interesting.”

Tony steps out and closes the door behind him.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades away, Peter flings himself out of the bed and to the window.

He unlatches it, pushing the glass up, then pops out the screen. Peter sticks his head out and looks down. 

It’s a decent climb. Peter’s right web shooter has recently expressed how done it is with him, and his left has been fucked up ever since Thanos shoved the gauntlet on over the trigger, so Peter’ll have to crawl down. But he’s had worse.

Like on the first mission Thanos gave him. Which Peter now kinda remembers.

He can’t recall what he’d been asked to steal, but he remembers that he’d tried to run. Even on another planet, there’d been people willing to help him. He shouldn’t have accepted. Because he did, they were there when Thanos personally tracked Peter down.

It’d been bad. It had been really, really bad.

So, Peter can’t stay.

Even if that iron man hasn’t attacked anyone but Peter, its very presence means that Thanos is still monitoring him, waiting for him to step out of line. 

Peter looks at the city. The sun is setting, and it’s beautiful. Everything on Earth has been beautiful so far. 

Peter still has two days. As long as he’s here, he won’t put anyone in danger.

And after that, well. In space, the only life Peter can ruin is his own. So, once Peter’s back in space, he’ll make sure that Thanos won’t have a chance to threaten anyone ever again.

Peter will keep his people safe. He has a plan.

For now, though, he should just keep an eye on his people from a distance. Like a protective stalker. But hopefully less creepy.

It’ll work out.

Halfway out the window, Peter can’t help but look back at the comfy bed with the  _ Star Wars _ blanket. 

Then he glances at the unlocked door, leading to kind people he’s only starting to remember. He wonders how many of them are waiting to meet him again.

Peter closes the window behind him.

——

Peter’s resolution to stay away from his people lasts for about two seconds. Literally.

He’s crept about three feet away from the window when he hears—

“Peter! Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter—“

Peter pretends that he’s gone deaf. He continues climbing down.

“— Peter, Peter! I can see your butt! Stop ignoring me, or I’ll tell Daddy that you’re sneaking out!”

Well, shit.

“Don’t tell your dad!” Peter says, flipping himself over so that his chin is resting on Morgan’s windowsill. Apparently, her room is next to the one he woke up in. Stupid architecture.

Morgan presses her face to the screen. “Where’s my Spidey?” she demands.

“Uh,” Peter blinks. “What?”

“My Spidey,” Morgan says slowly. “I gave him to you. Where is he?”

Um. Peter opens his mouth, then decides that “In a dumpster somewhere?” probably isn’t an appropriate answer to this question.

And Peter isn’t even sure if the Spider-Man plushie is in a dumpster. Between the iron man and the head injury, he’d totally lost track of it. In his defense, he’d been kind of busy.

But, none of those excuses work on toddlers, apparently. Morgan’s eyes are starting to look suspiciously shiny. “Spidey…” she says, clawing at the wire mesh.

Peter can feel his heart breaking.

“I’m sorry—“

“No!” Morgan says loudly, narrowing her eyes. “You have to bring him back!” 

Peter pauses.

“I don’t think—“

“Bring him back!” Morgan yells. “Bring him back! Bring him back! Bring him—“

“No, wait— Please be quiet—“ 

“— back! Bring him back! Bring—”

“Fine!” Peter hisses. Morgan immediately stops screaming. “Fine, I’ll... I’ll bring your Spidey back.”

Morgan stares at him with huge, shining eyes. 

“Promise?” she says.

Peter hesitates. Morgan’s bottom lip wobbles.

“I promise,” Peter says quickly.

Morgan’s bottom lip immediately stops wobbling, and she smiles. 

Faker. Peter feels cheated.

“Good,” Morgan says. Then she pauses, before adding, “But, we’re going home tonight, so you can’t bring him here. You gotta meet us at home.”

Peter regrets meeting this kid so hard right now.

“I can’t— “ Morgan’s face scrunches up. “—Well, what if I— “ Morgan opens her mouth, ready to scream. “— Okay!” Peter says, resisting the urge to bang his head on the windowsill. 

Then he goes ahead and does it anyway. Who’s gonna stop him?

Morgan tries to pat his head through the screen. “Thank you,” she says.

“No problem,” Peter sighs. He’ll get Morgan’s Spidey back as quickly as possible, and then he’ll go back to protecting his people from a distance. A big distance. One little delivery won’t bring the wrath of Thanos down on this family, right? Right?

Well, if worst comes to worst, Peter will be there to protect them. They’ll be okay.

Peter has to tell himself this seven times before he can look up at Morgan again. She’s still trying to pet his hair through the window screen.

“So,” Peter says. “Where’s home?”

——

Peter leaves Tony and Morgan’s with a unicorn-themed sticky note covered in red crayon, a map of New York City also covered in red crayon, and a promise to keep.

He’s feeling pretty salty about how undergoing extended torture at the hands of a genocidal alien didn’t even make him immune to the puppy dog eyes of a little kid, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna go back on his word. Peter will find Morgan’s Spidey.

He does stop to help some kids fish their basketball out from behind the backboard first, though. Then he bumps into a college student who’s just finished up a session at the library, so he walks her home, because he’s a proxy-murderous thief, not a monster. Consequently, Peter now has a working knowledge of twentieth century Chinese cryptography.

And then someone’s sticking up two guys bargaining over a trunk-full of truffles, and Peter can’t not help, so he goes over and diffuses the situation. In return, he’s offered what he assumes is a very expensive dinner, which he refuses politely because it’s getting pretty late, and Spidey hasn’t magically reappeared yet.

Morgan said her parents were planning on going home before it got dark, so Peter had been hoping to return her toy before they left. But, by the time Peter finds Spidey propped up on a window sill that overlooks the street where his web shooter gave up on him, it’s night, and Morgan’s definitely back home already.

Peter sighs as he holds Morgan’s crayon notes up to a flickering street lamp, Spidey clamped under his right elbow. It’s not that Peter can’t read maps; it’s just that this map in particular is really stupid. Peter has no idea where he is or where Morgan told him to go.

Now he’ll probably have to hitchhike or something. He hopes he doesn’t get murdered before he can go throw hands with an alien warlord.

Peter’s considering whether the driver of a boring car or a flashy car would be more likely to try to strangle him to death with a dumbbell when he hears whispering in an alley ahead of him.

It sounds angry.

“—not doing that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fucking stupid, that’s why.”

“Well, I vote that it’s not fucking stupid. How about you?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Come on! Back me up here!”

“This isn’t a democracy.”

Well, this sounds like a peer pressure situation. Peter can help with that. He carefully folds Morgan’s notes away and tiptoes closer to the entrance of the dark alleyway.

“—won’t work.”

“I thought he had a sixth sense!”

“Yeah, for danger. Not idiocy.”

“Actually—“

“Can’t we just try it? I mean, he’ll probably hear it if you scream, and then—“

“I’m not a part of this.”

“Hey, wait— Okay, fine. Then— why don’t you punch—“

“Uh,” Peter says loudly, poking his head into the alleyway. “You guys need some help in there?”

Three of the people in the alley freeze, then stare at Peter like he’s a ghost. The fourth already seems to be looking in Peter’s direction. It’s kinda hard to tell, though, since he’s wearing sunglasses at night, like an asshole.

“Do you guys need some help?” Peter says again. He scans the group. Other than Sunglasses Man, there’s also a big guy in a hoodie, another guy in a three piece suit, and a lady who looks ready to cut a bitch. As Suit Guy steps forward and she redirects her stare towards him, it becomes evident that he’s the bitch in this situation.

“Uh, yes,” Suit Guy says hoarsely. He clears his throat. “Yes, we need help. You see, my friend here—“ He gestures towards Sunglasses Man. “—is, uh, very drunk.”

“Drunk?” Peter says. He looks at Sunglasses Man, who’s standing very straight and looking quite alert. Then again, sunglasses.

“Drunk?” Sunglasses Man says, in a tone that makes Suit Guy take a tiny step away from him.

“Yes, yes, very drunk,” Suit Guy insists. He waves towards Sunglasses Man. “This is just— blackout territory here. So, it’d be great if you could help— walk him home.”

Would-Cut-A-Bitch Lady snorts, and the corner of Sunglasses Man’s lips twitch. Big Guy doesn’t say anything, but Peter can almost feel the judgement radiating off of him.

Peter wonders if he’s being punked. But, he still nods and walks over, because he’d rather be punked than risk letting a drunk guy try to get home by himself.

But—“Why don’t you guys walk with him?” Peter asks. As he gets closer, he realizes that the smell of alcohol he thought was coming from the alley itself is actually coming from these four. It’s a lot. He’s a little more willing to believe Suit Guy now.

“Um,” Suit Guy pauses. He seems really distracted by Peter’s feet. “Well— my other friends are drunk, too.”

“Am I?” Would-Cut-A-Bitch Lady says drily. Even though she’s obviously talking to Suit Guy, she’s studying Peter’s face. 

Big Guy folds his arms.

“So drunk,” Suit Guy says. “Extremely drunk. She doesn’t even know what she’s saying right now, and this guy right here—“ Suit Guy points at Big Guy. “— He’s practically dead on his feet. I mean, look at him.”

Peter looks at him. He doesn’t look dead on his feet at all. But, something around his eyes seems sad.

“And these three don’t live in the same direction,” Suit Guy continues, “so could you take my buddy over there to Hell’s Kitchen? I gotta get these two home— They’re totally hammered.”

“Someone’s getting hammered tonight,” Would-Cut-A-Bitch Lady mutters, and Big Guy shakes his head. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. No problem,” Peter tells Suit Guy. Despite all the weirdness, these four feel trustworthy. Peter’s happy to help. 

And he might as well do some good before he goes.

“Can I take your arm?” Peter asks Sunglasses Man. He hasn’t— He doesn’t really remember how to help drunk people get around, but this feels like the right thing to say. 

Sunglasses Man pauses, before nodding. Peter sticks out his right elbow, and Sunglasses Man carefully hooks his arm around Peter’s. For a moment, it feels like he’s shaking a little.

“You good?” Peter says, glancing back at Suit Guy.

“I’m good, man,” Suit Guy says. “Nice to see you and thanks— for everything,” he adds, putting a strange emphasis on those last two words.

“It’s really no big deal,” Peter says, bemused.

“Still,” Suit Guy says. He rubs his eyes, and Big Guy claps him on the shoulder.

“Take care of yourself,” Big Guy tells Peter.

“You too,” Peter replies. “Take it easy next time.”

Then he turns to Would-Cut-A-Bitch Lady, who’s still staring at him.

“Ma’am?” he asks, cocking his head.

“…It’s nothing,” she says. But, she doesn’t stop staring.

“Um, okay?” Peter starts leading Sunglasses Man towards the mouth of the alleyway. “Goodnight, guys. Be safe.”

“See you,” Would-Cut-A-Bitch Lady says. 

It sounds like a promise.

——

Sunglasses Man is a very well-behaved drunk. He doesn’t stumble or throw up or lean heavily on Peter. But, he does act like he’s never learned how to read, which is why Peter has to name all the street signs at every intersection before Sunglasses Man can tell him where to go. Together, they make one semi-functional GPS.

It’s kinda nice, though. Walking in the city with someone, that is. Peter’s missed it. He’s gonna miss it.

Finally, they make it to the door of a fancy loft. Peter asks if Sunglasses Man needs him to help unlock the door, but Sunglasses Man shakes his head. He doesn’t reach for his keys either.

Instead, he turns to Peter and says, “Would you like to come in?”

“Oh,” Peter blinks, “I— I can’t. But, thank you.”

Sunglasses Man frowns. “It’s late, for a kid like you to be wandering around alone—”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter says. “And I— I’ve got stuff to do.”

“What kind of stuff requires you to go out past midnight?” Sunglasses Man asks.

“What kind of stuff requires you to get drunk past midnight?” Peter shoots back.

Sunglasses Man crosses his arms. Peter crosses his arms, too.

They’re deadlocked for sixteen seconds.

Peter breaks first. “I gotta return something, or else a little kid’s gonna tell on me,” Peter glumly waves Spidey in Sunglasses Man’s face. “So, I’m just gonna— Actually,” he adds, fumbling for Morgan’s notes, “Do you know how to get here?”

Peter points at the place where Morgan’s crayon path has run right off the map. Sunglasses Man stares at the page blankly.

“No?” Peter says, lowering the paper. “It’s a really dumb map, I know— I looked at it for, like, half an hour, and I couldn’t even—“

“How about this?” Sunglasses Man says. “I’ll take you there. To return the favor of walking me home.”

Peter squints.

“You know how to get there?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you drunk?”

Sunglasses Man shrugs and says, “I have a fast metabolism.”

Sounds fake, but okay. Peter’s not really in a position to judge.

“I don’t wanna trouble you,” Peter says, looking at the map again to see if he can figure out how Sunglasses Man figured it out. 

“No trouble,” Sunglasses Man smiles. “I need to head in that direction anyway.”

“Tonight?” Peter asks, suspicious. “Well, it’s morning now, I think.”

“Gotta drop something off at my ex’s place,” Sunglasses Man says. “Seems like we might reconcile. That’s why we were out drinking tonight— celebrating.”

“Oh,” Peter says. That seems legit. Well, it checks out with his knowledge of romance, which is almost entirely derived from Hallmark movies, but he has to work with what he’s got. “Uh, congrats.”

“Thank you,” Sunglasses Man says, leading Peter back out of the building.

“Is it really okay? If you take me?” Peter asks. “I don’t wanna be any trouble, and it’s late, and it looks pretty far—“

“It’s on the way,” Sunglasses Man says lightly. “And I’d be happy to have some company to keep me awake. In fact, you’d be doing me a favor. I don’t like traveling alone.”

Peter can’t really tell if Sunglasses Man is lying or not. He speaks in a way that makes you want to believe him unconditionally. And Peter does, for some reason.

Well, he’s almost ninety-seven percent sure Sunglasses Man isn’t going to murder him. That’s something.

“Thank you,” Peter smiles. 

“You’re welcome,” Sunglasses Man smiles back.

“So,” Peter says, as they step into the elevator. “How’re we gonna get there?”

Sunglasses Man thinks about it for a long moment.

“Car,” he finally says. “I’ve got a car.”

——

Sunglasses Man does have a car. It’s a nice car. A fancy car. A smart car with a built-in GPS that reads out directions as he drives.

It has thirteen dents in it before they make it out of Manhattan.

“Do you even know how to drive?!” Peter yells over the sound of a car horn, as they narrowly avoid slamming into the side of a SUV. 

“Do you?” Sunglasses Man says. He sounds calm, but Peter can hear his teeth grinding together.

“Well— Red! Red light! Stop, stop, stop—“

Sunglasses Man slams the brakes, throwing both of them forward and into their seatbelts. They’re basically bumper to bumper with the car in front of them.

Peter would like to get off this ride now, please. He’d actually prefer being beaten to death by the iron men. At least it’d be quicker.

“Oh my God,” Peter wheezes, squeezing Spidey to his chest. “Are you trying to kill us?”

“I’d like to see you do better,” Sunglasses Man says, running his fingers over the car door and the gear stick.

“Holy— Put both your hands on the wheel!”

The taxi behind them honks continuously. Sunglasses Man grabs the steering wheel, and they shoot out of the intersection.

Peter regrets everything. He should’ve stayed in the park.

“Can’t believe I survived an alien warlord just to die in a car crash ‘cause it’s night and the driver won’t take off his sunglasses,” Peter mutters to Spidey.

“I heard that,” Sunglasses Man says.

“Turn right in zero point-five miles,” the car announces serenely.

After five seconds, Sunglasses Man asks, “Do I turn here?”

The car scrapes against the curb.

“No!” Peter yelps. “There’s no street here!”

The car swerves back to the left. The buggy in the lane next to them tries to dodge and almost runs onto the traffic island.

“We’re gonna die,” Peter whispers, hugging Spidey even tighter.

Sunglasses Man ignores him.

He says, “Open the windows for me, please.”

“Wha— Why?”

“So I know where to turn.”

“Why do you need the windows open for that?”

“Turn right,” the car says.

Sunglasses Man rotates the steering wheel violently. The tires screech.

“Slow down, slow down, slow down— telephone pole!”

“Windows—“

“I’m opening them, I’m opening them!”

Peter opens all the windows. Surprisingly, Sunglasses Man’s driving does get better after that. He’s like a less aggressive Mario Kart player now.

They’re still honked at all the way out of the city. Peter thinks he sees someone call the police.

Once they’re in the mountains, Sunglasses Man instructs Peter to put the car in self-driving mode.

“It can do that?” Peter asks.

“Sure.”

“Then— Then why didn’t we use it before?”

Sunglasses Man shrugs.

“Bad connection,” he says.

Peter doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He puts the car in self-driving mode.

Sunglasses Man takes his hands off the wheel and leans back into his seat. 

They sit quietly. 

Peter watches the trees pass by. At one point, he thinks he spots an alpaca farm. He tells Sunglasses Man to look, but he doesn’t seem very enthused. Which is totally insane, because— Alpacas, man!

Jeez. Adults these days.

Anyway, for a guy who says he likes company while traveling, Sunglasses Man is awfully taciturn. Or maybe he’s just tired.

Peter could use a nap right about now.

But, first he needs to point out— “I don’t even know your name.”

Sunglasses Man turns his head slightly.

“You don’t even know my name,” Peter continues. “You should be more careful— I could be a murderer, you know. This could just be part of my whole plan to lure you out of the city and murder you in the forest.”

“Well,” Sunglasses Man says, “considering that I’m the one in the driver’s seat, you’re doing a great job so far.”

“You don’t know me,” Peter sulks. “You don’t know my plan. I could totally murder you.”

Sunglasses Man snorts.

“I could!”

Sunglasses Man shakes his head, holds out his right hand, and then says, “My name’s Matt.”

“Hi, Matt,” Peter says. He shakes his hand. “I’m Peter.”

“Hello, Peter,” Matt smiles. Then he mumbles, “Maybe I should have brought some cookies.”

“Hmm?” Peter says. “Oh, yeah, we could probably use some road trip snacks. Hey, have you ever heard of spicy Mexican hot chocolate cookies? I don’t think I’ve ever had them, but there’s this really interesting recipe—“

And then all thoughts of napping disappear, as Peter discusses all the recipes he remembers with Matt. It’s awesome. Somehow, Matt knows how every one of Peter’s recipes tastes, and he has a ton of insight on how varying ingredient proportions affect them. When Peter asks if he visits a lot of bakeries, Matt just says that he has a friend who likes baking. At that, Matt looks kinda sad, so Peter quickly diverts the conversation back to proper amounts of spices with respect to flour added.

Matt’s in the middle of a lecture on the overwhelming nature of cloves when—

“Jessica, Jessica, Jessica, Jessica—“

Peter jumps at the sound of the mechanical chanting.

“Ah,” Matt says, digging in his back pocket. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Peter sinks back into his seat. “Just— surprised me, that’s all.”

Matt nods and raises the phone to his ear. 

And, well. Peter doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he’s two feet away. Besides, at this point, eavesdropping is one of the lighter crimes in his intergalactic criminal history. He eavesdrops.

So, Peter definitely hears how irritated the person on the other end is when she says, “Matt, what the f—“

“Can’t talk right now,” Matt interrupts, “I’m driving.”

Peter snorts quietly. 

“Yeah,” the caller— Jessica?— grits out. “Danny noticed how you stole his car.”

What the—

“I’m borrowing it. He said I could borrow it.”

“This car is stolen?!” Peter blurts out.

“No,” Matt says, while Jessica says, “He’s with—“

“Yes,” Matt replies.

“Does he—“

“No.”

“And you’re going—“

“Yes.”

A long silence.

“Keep an eye on things, Matt.”

“Of course.”

The phone beeps as Jessica hangs up. Matt tucks the phone back into his pocket.

Peter’s still stuck on the stolen car part.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This car— We fucked this car up so bad, Matt. Will we— We’re gonna get sued. Do you have insurance? I don’t have insurance— I don’t have any legal documents! I can’t go to court—“

“Calm down,” Matt says. “First, Danny’s not going to sue us. This is not a prosecutable event. Second, I’m sure he’s done a lot worse to his other cars. He’s a billionaire,” Matt adds.

That does make Peter feel a little bit better. But, still—

“You can blame me,” he offers. “Tell your friend that I kidnapped you and trashed his car. And then I tried to murder you in the forest, and you fought me off very bravely, but the car couldn’t be saved.”

“You couldn’t murder me if you tried,” Matt says.

“You don’t know that!” Peter insists. 

Matt smiles.

Peter crosses his arms, offended. He resolves to ignore Matt for five minutes for this slight. He sits Spidey down against his chest and leans back in his seat, against the window. This far from the city, he can spot a couple of stars. 

Peter presses his forehead to the cool glass. He blinks a couple times, and then—

When Peter wakes up, it’s light out. Matt’s jacket is tucked around his shoulders and draped over his torso. He’s alone.

Peter jackknifes upright. He doesn’t relax until he spots Matt leaning against the dented trunk of the car, talking on the phone again.

As Peter opens the door, Matt hangs up and walks over.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, really good,” Peter says, handing him his jacket back. “Thanks, and— Sorry about that. Are you late for your meeting?”

“Not at all,” Matt says. “Don’t worry about me.”

Peter rubs the crud out of his eyes as he looks around. Matt’s parked on the side of a three way intersection, facing a dirt road that leads into the forest. If Peter focuses, he can smell a body of water nearby. It’s quiet, except for the birds.

“This is you,” Matt says softly. He nods towards the dirt road. “Should be a five minute walk.”

“Okay,” Peter takes a deep breath, clutching Spidey’s arm. “Thanks for driving me, Matt. I hope the meeting with your ex goes well.”

“I think it will,” Matt smiles. Then, he adds, “You want me to come pick you up? I can take you back to the city after you’re done.”

“No, it’s okay,” Peter says quickly. Matt’s been super nice. He can’t get involved in Peter’s mess. “I— I’ve got a ride.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah— Thanks, though. Really. Thank you so much. I’ll just— get going now.”

Peter stares at where the dirt road curves into the foliage. He takes another deep breath, then counts. He still can’t get his feet to move.

Matt steps up next to him.

“Do you want me to walk in with you?” he asks.

“Dude,” Peter says. He exhales quickly, takes two steps into the forest, then turns around, walking backwards. “I’m not a kid.”

Matt smiles. Maybe it’s just because Peter’s looking at him from a distance, but he seems sad.

“Try that again,” Matt calls over, “when your voice stops cracking, kid.”

——

There’s a log cabin at the end of the dirt road. It’s sitting in front of this beautiful lake, looking like something out of a picture book.

Peter’s kinda scared of getting close to it.

There are toys scattered all over the lawn, and wicker chairs with comfy pillows on the porch. Someone’s left a book on the railing. The lights aren’t on, but the morning sun makes the whole place seem peaceful, not lonely. It looks like a home. 

Peter has a dangerous magical rock superglued to his left hand and an alien warlord tracking him down. He should just leave Spidey on the welcome mat and then haul ass. But, he’s lost the ability to move again. All he can do is stand and stare. 

And that’s when a colorful blur slams into his legs. 

Peter windmills his arms, trying not to fall. The blur is pinning his thighs together.

“Morgan?”

Morgan looks up with a grin. She’s wearing pajamas covered in little birds. 

“I caught you!” she says triumphantly.

“Yeah, good job,” Peter says, patting her gently on the head. “You got me.”

“Did you bring my Spidey?” Morgan asks.

Peter looks towards the sky, pretending to think about it. Morgan whines and tries to shake his legs back and forth.

After five seconds, Peter gives in and dangles Spidey above her head.

“Yay!” Morgan finally stops hugging Peter’s thighs, so she can reach up and grab Spidey instead.

She squints into his felt eyes and squeezes his belly. “Why’s he all squished?” she asks.

“Uh,” Peter says. After a night of being Peter’s stress ball, Spidey does look kinda deformed. “Well— he got a little beat up, but— that’s just ‘cause he helped a lot of people last night.”

“Really?” Morgan says, looking up.

“Yeah,” Peter says, squatting down so that their eyes are level. “Your Spidey’s a real hero, Morgan.”

Morgan smiles, hugging Spidey to her chest.

“Awesome,” she says. 

Peter smiles back.

Then he straightens up, saying, “So, I gotta g—“

Morgan grabs his index and middle fingers before he can finish. “Play with me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh—“ Peter glances at the lake house. Still no lights. “I have something—“

“Play with me! Play with me! Play—“

“Shh!” Peter claps a hand over Morgan’s mouth. Then he quickly moves it away before she can lick his palm. 

Morgan pouts at him, the tip of her tongue still sticking out. 

Peter can literally feel his resolve crack.

“Okay, okay, okay. What do you wanna play?”

He’s such a sucker.

Morgan has a little blue tent in the yard that Peter refuses to squeeze into. She pushes him into it anyway and then spends three minutes giggling as he peers out at her, folded up with his knees by his ears. Peter manages to wheedle his way out of playing make believe in the tent, but he doesn’t get out of two-person shadow tag. Or several rounds of concentration 64. Or having to reenact Spidey’s amazing adventures with Morgan’s other toys.

Peter’s lying in the grass, exhausted, as Morgan walks Spidey up and down his stomach. He feels like he’s been playing for hours, but it’s probably only been, like, twenty minutes. Little kids are insane. Did someone feed this child pure sugar for breakfast?

“Juice pops,” Morgan corrects.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Peter sighs, closing his eyes. He needs another nap. But, he’s got stuff to do, stuff that doesn’t and shouldn’t involve toddlers or any of the other nice people who keep talking to him and helping him and trying to let him into their homes. Peter’s tired of having to leave them.

He’ll sleep when he’s dead.

Peter opens his eyes, sits up, and almost smacks his forehead into Morgan’s. She’s leaning over him, Spidey abandoned on his knee.

“Will you stay?” Morgan asks. “I wanna show you my room and the lab, and I have so many drawings— I’ve been saving them for you!”

Peter hesitates.

“I have to—“

“Daddy misses you so much—“ Morgan places a tiny palm on Peter’s chest, covering the spider. She presses, as if trying to push him back down on the grass. “—Why didn’t you come visit?”

Peter stays sitting. He carefully grabs Morgan’s wrist and places it back at her side.

“I’ve done lots of bad things,” Peter says, picking Spidey up off his knee so that he can stand. “I didn’t want to— to bring all the badness here.”

Peter hands Spidey to Morgan. She doesn’t take him.

Instead, she clenches her fists, saying, “Daddy would’ve protected you. He’s strong.”

“There’re a lot of dangerous people—“

“Daddy’s the strongest!” Morgan says loudly. 

“Okay, shh, I know, I know—“ Peter plops Spidey down on Morgan’s head. ”— But, strong people can get hurt, too. And I— I don’t want your dad to get hurt.”

“Well,” a new voice says. “I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

Peter whips his head around. Tony is standing on the porch, leaning against one of the beams. He’s kinda smiling, but he also looks like he wants to cry. 

He says, “Peter, let’s talk.”

Peter takes a deep breath.

Well, shit. 

Looks like it’s time to go.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Peter says, as he backs away from Morgan, Tony, and the house. “Traitor,” he hisses at Morgan, who crosses her arms, unrepentant.

Then Peter has to dodge to the left, because there’s another voice behind him whispering, “God.”

“Nope,” Peter says to the big blonde guy who somehow managed to materialize behind Peter without him noticing. “Just me.”

Peter’s almost decided on the escape route he’s gonna take out of this ambush when someone else grabs his wrist with one hand and uses the other to block the elbow he instinctively throws backwards.

“Peter,” the lady— who’s gotta be an actual ninja or something— says. “You look tired.”

“Oh, I am tired. So, if you could just—“ Peter tries to leap out of Ninja Lady’s grip without hurting her, but it’s like she knows what he’s gonna do before he does. “— let me go, that’d be awesome.”

“Jesus Christ,” says a guy wearing tinted goggles and actual metal wings, as he swoops out of the forest and into the lawn.

“Oh, come on!” Peter says. “How many of you guys are there?”

“They put him in the ice, too?” some dude with an awesome metal arm mutters to Big Blonde Guy, who looks at Tony.

“I was handling it,” Tony says shortly.

“He’s looking more handled now.” Winged Guy nods in Ninja Lady’s direction.

“Can we move this conversation inside?” Ninja Lady grunts, still struggling to hold onto Peter, who’s doing his best to contort himself out of her grip.

“I’m sorry,” Tony steps off the porch and beckons Morgan over. “Did you receive the invitations to brunch that I never sent, because—“

“Okay, no,” Peter says, taking advantage of Ninja Lady’s momentary distraction to duck out of her hold and back towards the forest. “Seems like you guys are going through something here, so why don’t you just— deal with your own friend drama, and I’ll just take off.” 

Peter spins around, heading for the trees.

Behind him, Tony shouts, “I didn’t dismiss you from the table, young man—“

At the same time, Big Blonde Guy says, “Wait—“, and Peter can hear the sound of Ninja Lady’s rapid footsteps and the whirring of mechanical gear unfolding. Morgan is yelling his name repeatedly.

Peter braces himself.

And then someone says, “Stop.”

Everyone immediately stops yelling and moving. Hearing this, Peter gets ready to sprint, but then—

“Peter.”

Peter freezes. 

He knows that he should run, but something about that voice and the way it says his name just makes him want to listen. It’s an instinct. He’s been having a lot of them, ever since returning to Earth. They haven’t betrayed him yet.

Peter turns to the porch.

Morgan’s mom is standing there, arms crossed. She smiles at him.

“Peter. It’s so good to see you. Won’t you stay for brunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMM OKAY I KNOW I SAID DAILY UPDATES and i really was gonna do them because i was planning on finishing this fic over labor day weekend and i was like, "yeah, i can do this" but then it got really long and basically i clowned myself guys. i'm boo boo the fool. the last chapter may take a while, sorry. 
> 
> i know what's gonna happen. i just need some time to actually write it with words...


	3. only me, with the world around me

Peter mixes French toast batter in the kitchen and wonders if he’s dreaming. Maybe he’ll blink, then wake up alone in the desert.

Morgan’s mom— who told Peter to call her Pepper— has pulled Peter into the lake house, sat him down at the kitchen island, and placed a hand-written recipe in his hand. He’s grateful. It gives him something to do while his would-be ambushers awkwardly introduce themselves and stare at him like he’s a ghost. None of them ask his name, and at this point, he’d be stupid if he didn’t know why.

The air is heavy. Peter doesn’t know how it feels to introduce yourself to someone you used to love, but it probably sucks a lot. Especially when that someone is now a dirty criminal who’s carrying a stolen mega space stone with him literally right now.

Speaking of— “Uh, so is no one concerned about the whole genocidal alien warlord who superglued a magic rock to my hand?” Peter asks. He carefully adds cinnamon to the batter, keeping in mind Matt’s spice lecture from this morning.

“We can discuss it after we get some food in you,” Tony says. Compared to the others, he’s being really good about not dissecting Peter with his stare or looking like he’s about to cry, so Peter tries to keep his eyes on him. “You’re a stick, kid.”

“Besides,” Sam adds, “genocidal aliens are so four years ago.”

Bucky shoots him a look. His jaw tightens visibly.

“I almost remember that,” Peter muses. He looks at Tony. “Did you really fly a nuke? Into space?”

Morgan tugs on Peter’s elbow, getting him to bend down. She feeds him a strawberry.

When he straightens back up, everyone is looking at him.

“Peter,” Sam says slowly. “Do you remember—”

“What,” Tony interrupts, folding his arms, “is it so unbelievable that I could be a hero?” 

He raises an eyebrow at Peter.

“No!” Peter blurts out through a mouthful of fruit. He’s not sure if Tony’s really offended, but even if he isn’t, Peter can’t just let that sentence stand. “No, I believe it. It’s just—” Peter swallows. “—I just feel like you’re more of a Doc Brown than a Ripley, you know?”

A pause.

Peter looks at Tony earnestly. He hears the clink of Pepper setting down her knife, apparently taking a break from slicing fruit so that she can smother a laugh in her hand.

Natasha snorts. Looking confused, Bucky mouths the words “Doc Brown,” and Steve mutters, “I understood that reference.”

Peter sneaks Morgan a teaspoon of white sugar and mentally pats himself on the back. He’s still got it.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t remember his own last name, but of course, the pop culture references survive intact.”

“What can I say?” Peter dots some cinnamon onto Morgan’s nose. She giggles. “I’m nothing without my quips.”

“If you’re nothing without your quips,” Tony replies immediately, “then you shouldn’t have them.”

Whoa. Harsh.

Peter gives Tony a look. “Dude,” he says.

Tony seems kinda uncomfortable, but that’s probably because Pepper is giving him a look now, too. “You’ll get that joke when your whole brain comes back,” he mutters.

And at that, the room goes quiet again.

Shit.

Peter breathes out slowly and tries not to shrink his shoulders. The air feels like syrup. 

It’s awkward.

Even though Pepper is the one who forcibly invited Peter to brunch, she hasn’t really said much to him, besides telling him where they keep the sugar. When he catches her gaze, she smiles, but her mouth always looks tense. Steve’s not any better, even though he can’t seem to look at Peter for more than two seconds at a time. Bucky is quiet, but it feels like he’s gazing through Peter’s soul, and Sam keeps opening and closing his mouth, like he knows what he wants to say, but the words just aren’t coming. And every time Peter looks up, Natasha is always staring at him, like she’s waiting for something that he doesn’t know how to give.

Peter stirs his batter intently. Not for the first time, he wonders why they brought him into this home, when all he can do is remind them of how he isn’t the person they love anymore.

Morgan knocks against his side again. Peter leans down, and she feeds him a blueberry.

It’s sweet.

Peter doesn’t want to hurt his people. But, he doesn’t know how not to. The only one who’s really comfortable with him is Morgan, and it shows.

Even Tony doesn’t seem to know what to say.

After a while, Peter asks, “How long was I…gone?”

A pause.

Peter looks up just in time to see Tony and Steve exchange glances. Sam’s brow is furrowed, and Bucky and Natasha both look extremely blank.

Peter stops mixing.

From behind him, Pepper says carefully, “It’s 2021.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Peter thinks about it. 

2021, huh. That seems kinda…wrong.

Hmm.

Then he remembers— “Oh my God.”

Everyone’s staring at him now. Tony steps closer, his hand hovering over Peter’s shoulder.

Peter’s thoughts are racing. If it’s 2021, does that mean— 

“Did I miss the launch of the James Webb Space Telescope?”

The answer to this question is really important to Peter’s immediate future happiness. He looks from face to face, wide-eyed. 

A long pause.

“Peter—“ Sam says.

“Nope, actually they delayed it again,” Tony interrupts. “Good job, kid. You made it back just in time.”

“Oh,” Peter sighs in relief. “Good.” He turns to Pepper and says, “I’m ready to dip the bread now.”

“Perfect,” Pepper puts down the knife, looks over Peter’s shoulder, and then adds, “Actually, Tony will take care of the toast. Why don’t you go play with Morgan, Peter? She’s getting a little antsy, since  _ someone _ decided that juice pops were an appropriate pre-brunch snack.”

“Juice pops are made from juice, and juice is made from fruit, and fruit’s healthy, so I’m not seeing the problem here—”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping—“

“I’m surprised that you’re still interested in space, after— everything,” Steve interjects. Peter turns back around and sees that he’s frowning. His eyes are really blue.

“I mean, I wasn’t really in space,” Peter says, fiddling with the spoon. “Thanos didn’t let me, like, explore the galaxy or anything. He kept me… somewhere else.”

Steve opens his mouth again, and Peter adds, “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

He looks down and starts stirring again. The batter’s definitely over-mixed by now. Everyone’s gonna be really disappointed.

The room goes quiet again.

Then, Sam starts, “Kid, I don’t want to pressure you, but—“

“Morgan,” Tony says loudly, “can you show Peter his room? Give him the whole tour, maybe reintroduce him to showers, dress him up— That suit is absolutely not brunch attire.”

“Tony—“

“Not now, Steve. It’s brunch time.”

Tony strolls around the island, so he’s standing between Peter, Pepper, Morgan, and the rest of the room.

“We have to—“

“Not. Now.”

A long pause.

Peter can practically feel the tension in the room, and he hates that he’s making everyone unhappy. He puts the spoon down, so he doesn’t accidentally crush it. Instead, he lets his nails bite into the palms of his hands, except he can’t do that, because his left hand is still encased by Thanos’s stupid gauntlet.

This sucks.

Peter shouldn’t have come here.

Morgan pulls at his fingers, trying to get his fist to loosen. He smiles down at her apologetically.

“Peter,” Tony says. He’s still shielding them from the others. “Get that suit off. No offense, kid, but you look like a fashion disaster.”

“You’re wearing tinted sunglasses indoors,” Peter points out, trying to lighten the mood.

No one smiles.

“Morgan,” Tony says again.

Morgan grabs Peter’s wrist and tugs him out of the kitchen.

“Daddy’s doing grown-up stuff now,” she informs him, while she leads him down the hall.

Yeah. That’s what Peter’s worried about.

But, though Peter’s upset about everyone arguing because of him, he’s also kinda grateful for the quick exit.

It means that no one notices the chef’s knife he has tucked into the bandages around his ankle.

——

Morgan brings Peter to a bedroom that George Lucas has apparently thrown up all over.

It’s awesome.

The windowsill is covered with action figures. On the desk, to the right of a refurbished desktop, there’s a model X-Wing sitting next to a row of textbooks, which are sandwiched by AT-AT bookends. There’s even a fully assembled Lego Death Star resting on the bed. That thing’s gotta have at least four thousand pieces!

Peter would give a kidney to spend an hour fiddling with all the models in this room. But, he’s kinda scared of touching anything. The room isn’t really neat, but it smells sterile and uninhabited. And upon closer inspection, the mess doesn’t look natural. It’s all been organized. Arranged.

Like a shrine.

“Here,” Morgan says. Apparently, while Peter was busy inspecting the feng shui, Morgan was digging in the plastic storage shelves. She’s managed to find a pair of fleece pajama pants, which, like hers, are covered by an assortment of colorful birds. She holds them up to Peter, adding, “We can match!”

“Cool,” Peter says, taking the pants. They’re really soft. “Thanks, Morgan.”

She beams.

With Morgan’s help, Peter also scavenges a pair of bright pink Hello Kitty socks and a T-shirt that says “I make bad science puns periodically” on it. Peter isn’t sure how any of this is brunch attire (except for the shirt, because science puns are always in fashion), but Morgan insists that she knows what she’s doing. 

And, well, she’s the one with the puppy dog eyes. So, she’s the boss.

After that, Peter gets Morgan to show him to the bathroom. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have any windows. Peter closes the door, and he’s getting ready to untie the bandages around his feet when he notices that she’s followed him in.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Peter says, nodding towards the door.

Morgan shrugs. She doesn’t move.

“I sing in the shower,” Peter threatens. “I sing really badly.”

“Do the ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider,’” Morgan says. She plops herself down on a fuzzy bath mat.

“Nope, nope, nope.” Peter scoops Morgan up with his right hand, then boots her out the door. She whines at him wordlessly.

“Just give me five minutes,” Peter cajoles. “We can play with Spidey again afterwards.”

“I wanna play Princess Spidey,” Morgan replies immediately.

“…Okay.”

Peter locks the door to Morgan’s call of “I’ll save you a blueberry!” 

He sighs, leans against the door, catches sight of the Hello Kitty socks on the sink, and deduces that he’ll probably regret that later. If he has a later.

Peter bends down and unwraps the bandages around his right ankle. 

He pulls out the knife.

It’s definitely not one of his best ideas, but people don’t usually keep blowtorches in their kitchens, so. Peter will make do.

Peter walks over to the shower, turns on the water, then braces the back of his left hand against the tiled wall, examining the lump in the middle of his palm. It’s smooth and featureless.

“Open sesame?” Peter asks the gauntlet.

Nothing happens.

“ _ Mellon _ ?”

No reaction.

Peter sighs. He lifts the knife.

And Peter knows that there’s really only an infinitesimally small chance that a kitchen knife will be able to split alien metal. But, he’d been hoping that it’d at least make a dent or something.

Peter’s sweating, and the gauntlet looks as polished as ever. He resists the urge to throw down the knife and bang his head against the wall. He’s pretty sure that would be audible over the water.

Really. Fuck Thanos.

Peter slumps down to the floor, leaning against the side of the bathtub and staring up at the ceiling. He blinks away frustrated tears.

How long has it been? How much time does he have left? Is everyone waiting for him?

Are they still waiting?

Peter looks at the gauntlet on his left hand. Then the knife in his right. Then back at the gauntlet.

It’s never felt more like a collar.

Peter moves the blade to his wrist.

If he can’t get the Time Stone out, then he needs to get the gauntlet off. It’s not even one hundred percent for his plan. Right now, he just wants to get rid of the reminder that he brought something of Thanos here. It’s a corruption. A poison. And if he waits for too long, it might become a glowing beacon, leading Thanos right to this home.

Morgan’s home.

Peter squeezes the tip of the knife in between his skin and the metal.

This is his fault.

Now he needs to keep his people safe.

But, as Peter watches blood ooze around the cuff of the gauntlet, he does wonder if he should’ve eaten brunch first.

Oh, well. Too late now.

Peter works at the gauntlet until he’s lightheaded, and the knife feels like it weighs a million pounds. It’s still not coming off. What’s he gonna do if it doesn’t come off? Peter can feel his heart rate picking up. He’s sweating. He’s cold.

A plan, a plan, he needs another plan. He has to keep Morgan and Tony and everyone safe.

The knife slips.

Peter hisses.

Shit. 

That’s, what, the fourth time?

Hmm.

He doesn’t know. Can’t remember.

Queasy, Peter drops the knife. He leans over the side of the bathtub, pressing his forehead to the cool marble and letting the cold water drip into his hair. 

He’s gonna take a break. Just for a minute. Then he’ll fix everything.

Peter closes his eyes. 

And then—

And then...

“Pete?” 

“Peter?”

“Peter? Pete— God, wha— what did you do?! FRIDAY, alert the house— Quick, give me stats here. Shit, he— He’s bleeding everywhere—”

“Boss, you need to apply pressure to…”

——

Peter wakes up.

He’s lying in a bed, feeling more comfy than he’s felt in a long time. He looks down and finds out that he’s wearing a T-shirt. It’s weird. He’s been wearing the suit for so long that he’s almost forgotten what his arms look like bare. 

Well, almost bare. There’s a whole roll of gauze around his left wrist, and the gauntlet is still there.

“Well, shit,” Peter says to himself. “That didn’t work.”

“You,” a hoarse voice says, “are such a little asshole, Peter.”

Tony’s sitting at Peter’s bedside again. He looks awful.

“Did I miss brunch?” Peter asks.

“You took a kitchen knife to your wrist after running around with cut-up feet and low blood sugar for two days,” Tony leans forward, staring Peter in the eye. “What do you think?”

Peter looks out the window. It’s dark out.

“It’s four in the morning,” Tony says.

“Oh.” Peter tries not to have a mini heart attack. Less than half a day left, then. “Have you been awake this entire time?”

“Yup,” Tony replies. “In fact, I’m probably never going to sleep ever again— no naps, no blinking. If you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again, you’re less of a kid genius than I thought.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Peter mutters.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. He sounds really angry. “Do you want to try that again? Because I thought I just heard you say that bleeding yourself out to the point of unconsciousness is not a big deal.”

“I didn’t think I was gonna pass out,” Peter protests. “I just wanted to get the gauntlet off.”

“So you decided to— to kill yourself?” Tony’s voice breaks.

“No,” Peter says, avoiding Tony’s eyes. “I just— I don’t know.”

Peter’s been kinda overwhelmed over the past few days. He’s had to make a lot of important decisions very quickly, and it’s made him a bit sloppy. It’s possible that he hadn’t thought everything through.

But still— “I had that,” Peter says. “I was fine.”

Tony reaches out with both hands and turns Peter’s head towards him, so Peter has to look him in the face. 

Voice low, he says, “You cut your radial artery.”

Oof. 

That’s bad. 

“I heal fast,” Peter says weakly.

“Not that fast.” Tony lets go of Peter’s face so that he can rub his eyes. He really does look awful.

It’s Peter’s fault again.

After a moment, Peter asks, “…Did Morgan see?”

“No,” Tony says. “Pepper distracted her with an overnight trip to the city. Fair warning— She’s probably gonna come back with a whole new wardrobe for you. She was saying something about Hello Kitty before she left.”

“Oh, great.” To be honest, Peter’s not totally sure whether or not he wants to see what Morgan comes up with, before he has to go.

And on that note— “So, do you happen to have any handy tips about do-it-yourself amputation?”

Peter immediately regrets asking when Tony jerks towards him, making a face that’s half furious, half devastated. 

“Peter—“ Tony puts his head in his hands. “— God, you’re gonna send me into an early grave.”

“I was just joking,” Peter says, like a liar.

“I’m not,” Tony looks up. “Kid, this is not even heart attack territory anymore. We’re going full on spontaneous combustion, blood vessels bursting, catastrophic failure— My body literally cannot handle the stress right now.” He places both hands on Peter’s shoulders, leaning over him until their eyes are aligned. “If I have to find your bloody, unconscious body one more time, I will seriously f—“

Peter refuses to hear the end of that sentence.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

Tony flinches.

“What did I—“

“I know! But— I just— I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Peter apologizes over and over, like a broken record. Each word seems to strike Tony like a blow, but Peter can’t stop himself. 

He’s not used to people worrying when they see him bleed. He’d forgotten that he can hurt the people he loves in this way, too.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers one last time, before the urge to cry chokes all his words away.

He sniffs, then goes to cover his eyes, but he’s stopped by the feeling of weakness in his left arm.

Some of that discomfort must show on his face, because Tony places a hand on his elbow, keeping him still, reaches out, and then carefully thumbs the tears off his cheeks. “Want some painkillers?” he asks. “Well, we still haven’t worked up your formula yet, but Cap’s got something that might—“

“No, it’s fine,” Peter says quickly. He can’t have his senses dulled today. “It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he adds, when Tony looks like he’s about to protest.

Tony smiles weakly. “You’re still a terrible liar,” he says.

“Hey!” Peter is offended.

Tony shakes his head.

Then he goes, “Now can you tell me why you need that gauntlet off so bad that you’ll try to mutilate yourself?”

Peter stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t say anything.

Tony sighs. “Peter, I know you have a plan. You always have a plan— You’re always running around pulling shit for your plans, and I— We’re all here for you, you know. The team. Your family.” He turns Peter’s face towards him again. “Just— talk to us.” 

Tony looks Peter in the eye and says, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

And that’s when something inside Peter snaps.

“I do!” he says angrily. “I do have to do this alone! You don’t— This is my fault! It’s all my fault.”

Peter sits up and throws the covers off, dodging Tony when he tries to stop him.

“No! Don’t touch me— I-I’m not who you think I am. I’ve done a lot of bad things,” Peter confesses. “I’m a bad person. And— And everyone’s always looking at me like— like I’m someone!” Peter throws his hands up, ignoring the prickling in his left arm. “— And I’m not. I don’t—” Peter shakes his head erratically. “— I’m so messed up.”

Peter peeks up at Tony. 

He looks heartbroken. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” Peter continues. “I’m hurting everyone. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have come—”

“Peter—“

“— I’m not who you’ve been waiting for. I don’t— I don’t remember anything. I could just be a clone Thanos sent down to— to trick you or hurt you or—“

“Peter, please listen to me,” Tony says. And he sounds so wrecked that Peter stops talking.

“Peter,” Tony says slowly. “I know you’re not a clone. You know why? Because I know you. And I know you don’t— you can’t remember a lot right now, but please trust me on this.” Tony kneels by the bed, so he’s looking up at Peter’s face. “I know who you are,” he says. “And you are a good person. You’re one of the best people I know, and I know a lot of good people. You’re good to the core, kid, and nothing and no one could ever change that, okay?”

Peter doesn’t say anything. He can feel the tears slipping out again.

“Okay,” Tony says. He takes a deep breath, then exhales, “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do: You’re gonna eat a good breakfast— bacon, eggs, fruit— I make a mean omelet now— and we’ll check out your wrist again. Then, we’ll find a way to get that gauntlet off of you— without chopping your hand or any other part of you off. Morgan and Pepper will come back at noon, and they’ll definitely want to have a picnic out by the lake, so we’ll do that, too. There’s this great spot where you can go right in the water and swim or skip stones, and Morgan will make us bring a whole loaf of bread to feed the ducks— or the ants if the ducks aren’t there— You’re gonna love it. Heck, let’s bring the whole team. Natasha could use some more sun, and Steve can be the bellhop— He won’t mind; he likes earning his keep. It’ll be a nice, wholesome family outing. No arguing, no fighting, and no intergalactic business. Just for one day. And after that, when the time comes, we’ll deal with Thanos together. We’ve got two super soldiers, a guy with metal wings, and the spy to beat all spies on the team— We’ll definitely wreck his ugly purple face. How does that sound, Pete? Good plan?”

Peter’s definitely crying now.

Tony’s still looking up at him, face solemn and eyes shining. In that moment, Peter sees how much he and Morgan are alike.

“Please,” Tony says. “Trust me.”

Peter takes a deep breath, holds it for five seconds, then breathes out shakily.

He looks Tony in the eye.

“I—“

The back of Peter’s neck prickles.

He freezes.

“Kid?”

Peter angles his ear towards the window. It’s really faint, really really faint, but he can hear—

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit,  _ shit— _

“Pete?”

Thanos is early.

“Pete? What’s wrong?”

“He’s here,” Peter whispers, staring out over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony pauses. 

Then his eyes widen. He reaches for Peter.

“Don’t—“

Peter leaps over Tony and sprints for the door.

——

By the time Peter escapes the lake house, Thanos is already waiting on the dock.

He’s facing away from the cabin, looking out across the lake. Above him, a huge black ship hovers ominously. 

Peter lands between him and the house, taking up a combat stance. The back of his neck is still prickling. 

As people spill out of the cabin, yelling at Peter to get back here right now, Thanos turns. But, instead of looking at Peter, his gaze travels over his shoulder.

“Stark,” Thanos says. “Did you enjoy the gift I saved for you?”

“Fuck you,” Tony spits.

“No armor today?” Thanos’s lip curls. “Isn’t it interesting how we become our children’s villains as they grow older.”

“Oh, fuck you so fucking mu—”

“He doesn’t need it,” Steve calls. “We’ve already got enough firepower to take you down.” 

Peter hears Natasha loading a pistol and Sam unfurling his wings behind him. Then footsteps, as they rush forward.

Thanos doesn’t move. 

Uh oh.

“Wait—“ Peter yelps.

And that’s when a million of blasters pop out of the ship, pointing down at all of them. The air is filled with the whining of generators powering up, and the clearing immediately feels two degrees hotter. There are so many guns that they’re almost blocking out the sky.

Everyone freezes.

“How rude,” Thanos says. “I’m just here to retrieve what’s mine.”

Peter tenses, clenching his fists. 

He knew it. He never should’ve come here.

“Peter isn’t yours,” Steve grits out.

For that, he gets a ball of white energy shot at his head.

Steve ducks. Peter can already tell that he isn’t fast enough.

Good thing Peter’s faster.

He leaps up, catching the blast on his gauntlet and left arm. 

It burns his palm. 

He hisses.

Behind him, people are yelling again, Tony loudest of all, but Peter tries not to hear them. He has to protect them. He needs to focus.

“Not mine? Yet he wears my armor well, doesn’t he?” Thanos says. “He uses my weapons, he follows my orders, he’s trained under my blows, and now he is stronger.” Thanos gestures to Peter like he’s a prize horse. “I destroyed him, and I remade him. I might as well be his father.”

“The  _ fuck _ are you—“

“You’re not the dad of me,” Peter says quickly, trying to divert Thanos’s attention away from Tony. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Thanos finally looks at Peter.

And then he chuckles. 

“It’s strange how you can say that after having stolen for me. Destroyed cities for me. Killed for me, even. Does he know how you prostrated yourself at my feet in service? Does he know you call me Father?” 

Thanos’s gaze bores into Peter.

Peter opens his mouth, trying to speak. He can’t. His tongue is a desert, and his ears are filled with buzzing.

“Don’t listen to him, Pete,” Tony says.

“Even now,” Thanos continues, “there isn’t a thing you do that goes against my orders. Your mind is such an interesting place, boy. You’re a prodigy at lying to yourself. That is something I didn’t have to teach you.”

Silence.

“I never killed for you,” Peter whispers. 

He would never. He would never. He would—

“How would you know?” Thanos smiles. “You don’t even remember who you are.”

Peter’s heart stutters.

“I was surprised that your boy was so weak, Stark,” Thanos calls out. “He broke so quickly, and even after that, he was useless. For a while, I feared that I would simply have to kill him. But, I respect you, Stark. We’re alike. So, I gave you some of my time, in exchange for some of yours. I hope you’ve enjoyed these last few days with your child. He’ll be resting with mine soon enough.”

“Over my dead body,” Tony says.

Okay, nope.

Peter’s gonna have a heart attack. He’s having a heart attack right now. He moves to block Tony from Thanos’s view, saying, “You can’t—”

“Don’t worry,” Thanos says. “Your death is inevitable. But, not now. First, I will teach you a lesson in pain.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?” Sam says, as if there aren’t a hundred mega space guns pointed at him right now. “There’s six of us, and only one of you.”

Thanos smiles.

“That just means I have nothing to lose,” he says. 

And then he looks right at Peter. “And the only weapon I need is standing right in front of me.”

A pause.

What the fuck?

Peter’s clenching his jaw so hard that he’s surprised his teeth haven’t sunken into his gums.

“Are you fucking nuts?” he spits out. “I— I’m traumatized, not  _ stupid. _ You really didn’t think anything through, did you? When you decided to send me to Earth? I don’t need to remember who I am to know who I’m fighting for— And it’s not you. It’s never been you.”

Thanos doesn’t react.

“I won’t fight for you,” Peter says.

He takes a step forward. He can do this.

Thanos tilts his head slightly.

“Did I say you would fight?” he asks.

Peter hesitates.

“You’re a fool, boy,” Thanos says. “The only reason I was keeping you alive is so I could kill you here, at your home. I wanted your friends to watch you bleed. I wanted Stark to see you rot.”

Tony inhales sharply.

“You’re a poison,” Thanos continues. “A puppet. And my power runs through your blood. I could tear you apart right now—” Thanos flashes his gauntlet. “— with only one thought.”

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Peter says, stretching out his left hand. His voice is shaking.

“Oh?” Thanos says. “I thought you would remember the injections. After all, you were so terrified of them. The first time was very impressive. Do you remember how many iron men had to hold you down?”

Shit. Peter’s heart drops.

The injections. Of course.

Blood. The tracker. There wasn’t a gauntlet on the first mission.

Peter’s so dumb. 

Behind him, Sam swears, and Bucky makes a low, angry sound. Then someone must try something, because the ship fires a blast that punches into the ground by Peter’s feet, inches away from his toes. Dirt sprays all over his Hello Kitty socks.

Peter doesn’t move or say anything.

Thanos seems to read something from his face anyway.

“Ah,” he says. “You recall the Courga now. You led me to them, you know. They paid dearly for their kindness to you.”

Thanos smiles.

Peter’s trembling.

“If you give me the stone,” Thanos says quietly, “I’ll spare your loved ones pain. They will not suffer by my hand. Perhaps they’ll even be relieved to see your corpse at my feet. After all—“ He surveys the lawn. “—isn’t it painful to see the parody of a child you once loved?”

Peter feels lightheaded. He can’t breathe.

“Give me the stone,” Thanos commands.

Peter turns his head. He wants to see Tony’s face—

“The stone, boy.” And the ship overhead rumbles.

“The stone,” Thanos repeats. He twists his left hand, so Peter can see the three Infinity Stones winking at him.

And Peter knows it’s not his life that Thanos is threatening.

“Yes,” Peter says. And when Thanos narrows his eyes, he adds, “Father.” 

He hears Tony suck in a breath, audible even over the others’ protests, which are quickly stifled by the whirring of the ship above them. The blue light from the blasters casts an eerie glow over the lake house, blocking out the brilliance of the rising sun.

Peter wishes he could tell everyone that they’ll be okay. That he’ll save them. That he has a plan. 

But, there’s no time.

Peter steps onto the dock, raising his left hand.

Thanos looks down at the gauntlet and smiles.

Peter takes a deep, shuddering breath—

And then a black stiletto smacks Thanos right in the forehead. 

Peter blinks.

Uh.

The shoe bounces off Thanos’s face and lands on the dock with a dull thump, ending up right in front of Peter.

Thanos’s face is terrifyingly blank.

Peter stares down at the high heel.

What the f—

“Peter! Peter! Get away from my kid, you giant purple  _ asshole!” _

Peter turns around.

He sees—

  
[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184063614@N02/48672581938/in/dateposted-public/)   


“May,” Peter breathes.

Black Widow is holding onto Aunt May’s arm, shielding her, keeping her from getting close to the dock. May’s screeching insults, cursing Thanos out with phrases Peter’s never heard before, and her hair is a mess.

She’s the most beautiful thing Peter’s ever seen. 

It takes every bit of his spider-enhanced strength to keep himself from running over to her and giving her a hug. He’d never be able to let her go, if he did.

He’s missed her so much.

He’s missed everyone so, so much.

God, she looks different. Older. They all do.

May’s crying now.

So is Peter.

“Oh my God,” he says, turning back to Thanos. “You really kept me in your pocket for four whole years? That’s fucked up, man.”

Thanos bares his teeth. “You were smarter when you knew nothing,” he says.

Then he points at Peter’s throat, doing some fancy twisting motion with his left hand. He ends with a violent swipe downward, the gauntlet shining.

The stones flash.

Shit!

Peter ducks and cups his hands around the back of his neck, wondering if he’s about to feel his whole spine explode. He squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that everyone is looking away. He doesn’t want their last memories of him to be bloody and broken. 

It’s a vain hope. Peter knows that they’d never turn away from him.

But, nothing happens.

After two seconds of silence, Peter peeks up at Thanos, who’s staring down at the stones. He looks at Peter.

“…You have sustained substantial injuries on this trip?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says. “I’ve bled so much.”

Then Peter raises the gauntlet— the one Thanos himself gave him— palm up, so the uncovered green shine of the Time Stone is exposed.

Before Thanos can react, Peter forms a fist.

Energy stabs into his hand and flows up into his arm and shoulder. It feels like his blood is being electrocuted. But, Peter stays focused.

In that split second, he thinks about a lot. He thinks about Ned and MJ. He thinks about Daredevil, Miss Jones, Mr. Cage, Mr. Rand, the Punisher, and Max. He thinks about Deadpool and Mr. Bucky and Mr. Wilson and Black Widow and Captain America. He thinks about Morgan, Miss Potts, Mr. Stark, and the room they kept for him. He thinks about New York and Spider-Man Day. He thinks about May and Ben.

Peter remembers everyone he’s fighting for. Everyone he loves. He focuses on them.

He closes his eyes.

He makes a wish.

And, for the first time ever, one of his plans goes totally right.

When all the wind and glowing green light dies down, Peter feels like he’s just jogged a lap around the equator. He sags, letting his left arm drop to his side. The gauntlet is burnt out. 

There’s a pile of golden tank top armor lying at the end of the dock. The ship is gone, but Elphaba has reappeared, wide-eyed, her hand pressed to her chest.

“Where—“ she starts.

But, she’s cut off by the sound of a baby wailing.

A pudgy purple hand knocks the gauntlet embedded with the other Infinity Stones into the lake with an anticlimactic plop. There’s some incoherent babbling as other pieces of armor are kicked around. Then, baby Thanos starts up an all-out tantrum. 

Ugh. Peter can’t help but cover his ears.

Elphaba walks over and stares down at baby Thanos, mouth slack. Peter doesn’t know how she can get close to him. It feels like his eardrums are vibrating.

Seriously, baby Thanos is so loud. He’s deafening. Are all babies like this? Peter would’ve made a different wish if he’d known this would happen. He wonders if Morgan was so noisy at that age. Well, considering how loudly she can scream now, probably. He’s almost grateful that he missed it. Almost. 

Maybe Mr. Stark has some baby videos he can show him.

He should ask.

Peter turns around just in time to get dog-piled by hugs.

“What just ha—“

“Do you remember—“

“Did you just turn Thanos into a  _ baby _ ?”

“I can’t believe—“

“Don’t you ever, ever do that again, Peter. I am serious—“

It’s chaos. There are limbs everywhere, squeezing, and everyone’s yelling or scolding or crying or all three. Peter can’t breathe. He’s suffocating. He just took out a genocidal alien warlord, and this is how he dies.

Feels good. It feels really, really good.

Peter’s left arm is burnt jelly, so he uses his right to try to hug as many people as possible, all at once. They’re all safe. He’s so relieved.

It’s over.

It’s really over this time.

Peter laughs and laughs and laughs until he’s sobbing. 

There’s a hand rubbing circles into his back, and another patting his shoulder, and he’s surrounded by people whom he loves and who still love him, even after all this time, and he’s totally ruining one of Aunt May’s nice blouses, but he can’t stop himself. It’s been…so much. 

“You’re okay, Peter,” Mr. Stark says gently.

It’s okay.

Peter cries for a long, long time. No one lets him go.

Eventually, he regains enough composure to gasp out, “Shit. Am I a high school dropout now?”

Mr. Stark groans.

“Of course, that’s the first thing you worry about.”

“I mean, I’ve missed so much class— How much make up work do you think—“

May kisses him on the forehead and tells him that they’ll figure everything out later. It’ll be okay.

Peter decides not to press the issue. He’s tired. He leans against Aunt May’s shoulder and listens to her heartbeat. It sounds like a lullaby. 

Mr. Stark starts running his hand through Peter’s hair, as if this is just another movie night in Avengers Compound, with everyone piled on and around the couch in the lounge, slowly falling asleep.

It’s safe.

Peter closes his eyes, knowing that the people he loves will still be there when he opens them.

The sun rises over the lake. 

And everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the drawing board: An aftermath
> 
> Y'all are really gonna have to wait this time.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who commented, kudosed, bookmarked, and read. This work would not exist without you!
> 
> Seriously, every time I need to pump myself up, I go back and reread all the comments you guys leave. I read the tags in the bookmarks, too. I read your words when I need to get myself out of bed and when I need to get down and study and when classes fuck me up. It helps a lot. Thank you all so much.
> 
> (I know I've been late in replying lately. I'll get on that soon!)
> 
> Anyway, I know there are a lot of loose threads, and I'm sure you guys have questions. If there's anything you want an elaboration on (plot threads, things that we can't see from Peter's POV, etc.) leave a comment, and I'll do a longish reply or write a oneshot or something. Really, this series feeds on your feedback.
> 
> And as an extra thing, because you guys have really been so awesome, I'll drop my current draft of the aftermath's summary:
> 
> "Peter doesn’t know where he’s going to school, how old he is, or what he’s gonna do with the rest of his life. But, he does know one thing: 
> 
> He’s gonna adopt the shit out of this new Spider-Man."
> 
> See you on the other side, and as always, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> it's been really nice watching new readers go through this series. The transition from "this is cute" to "ASDKHFASDKF WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT" (as expressed in my inbox) has been pretty fun to see. 
> 
> but i do feel bad about leaving you guys hanging haha, which is why this is early.


End file.
